Forgotten Tales of Middle-earth: A Change of Fortunes
by BlondiezHere
Summary: A lot can happen in four years—especially when everyone thinks you're dead. What new destiny awaits Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli when they return to a world that has moved on without them?
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is - the very first chapter of my next epic Middle-earth story! All the Khuzdul you're gonna see appears courtesy of the hard work of The Dwarrow Scholar.**

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 **1. _Dush Nurtu_**

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He was just sitting down at the desk in his study when Manwë, High King of the Valar, felt…disturbed.

Not one given to flights of fancy, he at first dismissed the feeling. Yet it remained with him throughout the morning and afternoon, and in fact grew stronger as the hours passed. Varda, his wife, was not remiss to his distracted state when they took supper together early that evening.

"My beloved, what troubles thee?" she asked.

"I do not know, wife," Manwë replied honestly. "An odd sense of foreboding has plagued me since this morning. I cannot seem to shake it."

They were both of them startled when the door to the dining room burst open and through it came charging their fellow Vala, Mandos.

"Manwë, you must come quickly!" said the Keeper of the Dead. "They are coming—there are so many!"

Manwë, having stood on Mandos' entrance, hurried around the table with Varda on his heels. "Whatever do you mean? What's happening?"

"A great battle must be going on in Middle-earth," Mandos replied as he led them from the great house in which they lived. "Dwarves, Men, and Elves are appearing in my halls in great numbers, and at such a rate that Vairë cannot keep pace in her weaving."

Manwë shared a glance with Varda—this could not be a coincidence. Such a thing did not happen among the Ainur.

"Have you questioned any of the new arrivals?" he asked.

"Nay, I have not. The alarming speed at which they have come compelled me to fetch you straight away."

Varda, always the voice of reason, smiled gently and said, "Wars have been fought in Middle-earth before, Námo. You know this."

He shook his head vigorously as the three approached the Halls of Waiting. "True that may be, my sister, but my intuition strongly protests the notion. I fear some great evil is at the root of this."

Together they hurried to one of many rooms where the newly dead arrived. Upon waking in the Halls of Mandos, most dwarves were then escorted to the Great Forge of their creator, Aulë, by one of their kin who'd passed before them. Elves would be given duties in the Halls for a time, and Men soon were called to the plane created for them by Eru. But so many had come that Mandos' aides were too busy trying to account for them all to be able to direct anyone to where they were supposed to go. More dwarves, elves, and men than could easily be counted were standing crowded together, all available seating having already been claimed.

"NO!"

A great, pained cry drew their attention. Manwë turned toward its point of origin and the crowd, perhaps sensing his power and authority, immediately parted to make way for him.

He came upon a golden-haired dwarf kneeling on the floor cradling another of his kin, the latter with hair of dark brown who moments later gasped and awakened.

"Brother!" the brown-haired dwarf cried softly.

The blond sobbed. "Why, Kíli? Why didn't you stay below like I told you to?!"

Kíli groaned as he sat up, then looked the other in the eye. "Fíli, I couldn't let that bastard Azog—"

"Azog?"

All eyes turned to Manwë, who felt a great chill on hearing the name.

The one called Fíli scowled as he gazed upward. "Who are you?" he demanded.

A number of gasps sounded around him; Manwë merely raised an eyebrow before saying, "I am Manwë, child, the High King of the Valar."

Embarrassment colored the young dwarf's features. "Forgive me, my Lord. I meant no impertinence."

Pleased that Fíli was one of those dwarrow that respected Valar other than his maker, Manwë nodded. "Tell me of Azog. Why did you speak that name?"

The brothers exchanged a glance. "The pale orc was there at the battle, my Lord," said Kíli. "He led the dark forces."

"That's not possible," declared Mandos. "Azog is dead. He was beheaded at Azanulbizar by a young lad called—"

"Dáin, yes, we know," Fíli interrupted as he stood at last. He then held out a hand to his brother, helping Kíli haul himself to his feet. "He is our kinsman—not just as a dwarf, but like us of the House of Durin."

He then stepped toward Mandos as though indifferent to the Vala's greater height and the power he exuded, pulling at his clothing as he did so. "But you cannot tell me that I do not know the name of he who gave me this."

Like Manwë, Mandos merely raised an eyebrow. Fíli looked down at himself, a look of confusion crossing his countenance as he pawed at his chest.

"I don't understand. He impaled me with that thing on his arm…"

"And then threw you down to the stone landing at my feet, as though you were nothing more than a sack of flour," Kíli said bitterly. "How could I not make an attempt to avenge you, brother?"

They looked at one another for a long moment, then Fíli turned back to the Valar before him. "Why am I not marked?"

Varda offered a smile. "When you pass into the Halls of Waiting, child, you leave your earthly body behind. The wounds which took your life—all of your lives—" she said, encompassing the entire room in her gaze. "—do not accompany your honored souls to this blessed place."

"Are you certain the leader of the orc army was Azog?" Manwë asked.

Both Fíli and Kíli nodded. "Our uncle knew him. He had been certain also that our cousin had slain him," Fíli said. "But he must have been wrong, though I do not see how."

Manwë turned away from the two dwarrow, his thoughts churning. His wife placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What vexes thee, husband?" she asked softly.

"The orc. His presence must have something to do with this strange feeling I've had all day," he replied, turning his gaze to hers. "Varda, I _know_ something is very wrong. Azog should not have been present at this battle—he should have long been dead."

Taking a deep breath, he realized he would need to know more, details that would help him discern the cause of his mental discontent. Manwë turned and faced the Sons of Durin once more.

"Tell me, children, of this battle. What led to the conflict which has brought so many of you here?"

The brothers looked at one another, then around at the dwarves, elves, and men surrounding them. The group began to murmur amongst themselves—debating who should speak first—until a blonde elleth stepped forward, coming to stand next to Fíli and Kíli in the middle. She raised her arm across her chest, her hand over her heart, and bowed reverently.

"My Lord Manwë, I am Ellúrien, daughter of Aglaia," she said. "The Sons of Durin and their kinfolk retook the Lonely Mountain from the fire-drake Smaug. King Thranduil led us to Erebor to confront the _naugrim_ , hoping to reclaim property that had once belonged to our late queen. Though truly our hope was to settle the dispute without bloodshed, he amassed the army of Mirkwood in the hope that sheer numbers would convince them to settle the dispute begun long ago."

Again the murmurs rose, then Fíli took up the narrative. "In truth the quest began months ago, in the spring, when our uncle Thorin declared he would at last quest to reclaim our ancestral homeland," he said. "It was within but a few weeks that we discovered Azog and his vile offspring were hunting us."

"I do not know much Black Speech," said Kíli, "but I know enough to understand that taking the mountain was not his only goal. When he…when he held Fíli prisoner, before he…"

The young dwarrow paused, lowering his head to hide the tears that had pooled in his eyes. His brother clapped a hand on his shoulder, and after a moment Kíli shored himself up, taking a deep breath, and then went on. "He said 'So ends your filthy bloodline'. He was after us—specifically us, my brother and me. And our uncle."

"It surprises me not, my Prince," said an older dwarf warrior, stepping toward them as he spoke. "The Line of Durin—especially the senior line, from which you, your brother, and the king hail—is the most powerful of all our kin."

"Indeed," said Ellúrien. "The power lies within your line to not only unite the seven families, but also achieve peace with my kin. Years—decades even, it may have taken—but it was entirely possible."

Manwë nodded even as a more deeply disturbing thought occurred to him. "Indeed. Peace would have—"

He was interrupted as a light flashed, announcing the arrival of yet another of the dead. When it faded, there were numerous loud gasps among the dwarves. Fíli and Kíli spun around, both of them crying out in anguish as they fell to their knees.

The figure on the floor was Thorin Oakenshield.

The brothers fell prostrate over his body as their kinsmen began falling to their knees in homage of their slain king. The doom that had chased him throughout the day seized Manwë in an iron grip as he stared down at the scene before him.

"Eru be merciful," said Mandos softly.

"It would seem it is too late for such a plea, my Lord," Ellúrien said.

Manwë turned to his fellow Valar. "Mandos, do not release the dwarves to the Great Forge until I give you leave. Varda, go there and do whatever you must to keep Aulë from coming to the Halls of Waiting."

"Manwë, by now I am sure he knows something is amiss," Varda said. "You know how closely he follows the lives of his children."

"That is precisely why I desire he not come here, nor discover that the senior line of Durin is ended, for you know they are the favorite of his sons. At least not yet," Manwë countered. "I must meditate on these events, if not go so far as to plead an audience with Ilúvatar. I fear we have been blinded to a great evil."

He turned and left with Varda at his side in the same moment that Thorin awoke.

 **-...-**

Thorin gasped a deep breath as he returned to consciousness. He blinked rapidly to clear his sight, noting two disturbingly familiar figures hovering over him.

Fíli…and Kíli.

 _Mahal, why?_ he cried silently. _Why could not at least_ one _of my sister-sons be spared?_

"A dark day has fallen," he heard a voice say off to his left. "The Line of Durin is ended."

Grief for their lives cut short clamped his heart, but Thorin pushed it aside as he made to sit up. Mourning for what had been lost would have to wait. Looking around more attentively, he noted he was on the floor.

"Could I not have come to the Halls of Waiting in a bed, at least?" he grumbled.

A chuckle sounded and he looked up…and up…into the face of the fairest male he'd ever laid eyes upon.

"Forgive the method of your arrival, Thorin Oakenshield," said the figure. "There are sadly too many newly deceased to arrive on this day for everyone to have the comfort of a bed to awaken upon—I could not even summon loved ones to greet everyone as normally I would. More agreeable accommodations will be forthcoming to all in due time."

If that many were dead, then it was a dark day indeed. But as aggrieved as he was by this news, he would not be wholly uncomforted, for he had seen the enemy in flight from the battlefield before he had fallen.

Victory. Erebor had been defended and returned to the keeping of his kin.

"Fair enough," he replied with a nod. "May I ask your name? For you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

The figure inclined his head. "I am Mandos, Keeper of the Halls of Waiting."

Thorin nodded his head respectfully, then turned it to gaze at his nephews. "Forgive me," he said, his heart once again squeezing in his chest to see them at his side.

Fíli blinked tears from his eyes. "For what do you apologize, Uncle?"

"I should have left you both behind, taken two other strong dwarrow into my company," Thorin replied. "For then we would not all of us be here. It was foolish sentiment that led you to this perilous end."

Kíli reached out and grasped his hand. "No, Uncle, do not blame yourself. It was our great desire to join you on the quest—our end was by a choice of our own making. Had you left us behind, we would only have followed you anyway."

He had to smile at that—Kíli would certainly have done such a thing, and Fíli would have gone along in order to keep his brother out of too much trouble. Dís was forever telling him to look after Kíli.

"My only regret is that in dying, we have left our dear mother alone," Fíli said quietly.

Kíli's eyes filled again. "Mahal, I made her a promise," he said, choking back a sob. "I promised her I would come back. She'll be devastated."

Thorin watched as his expression shifted, and suddenly Kíli looked around them. His eyes came to rest on the blonde female elf standing nearby. "Ellúrien, did you say your name was?"

The elf nodded. "I did."

"Tauriel—do you know her?"

Ellúrien nodded again. "Indeed I did. May it lighten your grief, young dwarf, to learn that she is not among the dead this day."

"Not yet," Fíli murmured.

Kíli punched his brother in the shoulder. "What?" Fíli challenged. "I'm not wishing her dead, just saying that it could still happen. Even if the battle is ended, there are no doubt a great many wounded. Hundreds, if not thousands, could still add to the number already here."

"It grieves me to agree with you, child," Mandos spoke up. "Let us all pray that number is smaller yet. I will go now and see that arrangements are made for everyone."

The Vala bowed his head and turned to leave. Thorin sighed and pushed to his feet and his nephews followed suit. He turned to them fully and, raising his hands to each of their heads, drew them to him, touching his brow to theirs.

"Forgive me also, my sister-sons, for being the smallest measure pleased that you are here with me. For I would have missed you terribly," he whispered.

"And we would have missed you, Uncle," Fíli replied.

The three of them stood that way for many minutes, and then Thorin stood back and let his gaze roam around the room. Dwarves were rising all around him and coming closer as elves and men were stepping back.

"Know this, my brothers," Thorin said, addressing his kin. "Know also each man and elf in this room," he added, drawing their attention back to him.

He took a breath, his eyes traveling again as he spoke. "Know that you all died not in vain, but for a purpose. Erebor is saved. Dale is saved. Mirkwood is saved. In my last moments of life, I witnessed the defeat of our common enemy. Azog the Defiler is dead for certain, his pathetic life ended by my own hand, and his army was escaping the field of battle even as I was called to this place."

A raucous cheer went up amongst the dwarves as a male elf pushed his way to the fore of the crowd.

"Why didn't you just give our king the jewels that already belonged to him?" he demanded. "Why didn't you give the men what you promised them? There'd many of us not be dead now had it not been for you, dwarf!"

The closest dwarves began to shout in protest, and a few made to confront the elf. Thorin stayed their charge by stepping between them and the speaker, his stare firm. After they stilled, he turned and faced his accuser.

"I make no excuses for my actions," he said.

"Thorin, you cannot be serious!" cried one dwarf.

"Why are you being so bloody generous? He's an elf!" declared another.

Kíli stepped forward. "So what if he is an elf?" he said hotly. "Are we not all of us dead? Did we not all die fighting in the same battle against the same enemy?"

"Kíli is right—and so are you," said Thorin to the angry elf. "Though for many days my mind lay trapped in the madness of dragon sickness, it was my choices—my actions—that led us all to this fate. I was blinded by hate and greed that the dragon sickness fed upon, and there are many here who might elsewise not be had I not been so easily led astray."

He turned then and once more encompassed all he could within his gaze as he said, "We are all of us here fallen warriors—dwarf, elf, and man alike. My brothers… Many more would be dead at the hands of the orc army had the men and elves not stood with us. They defended our homeland as well as their own and gave their lives for the safekeeping of those we left behind. Even I, who have long despised elves and thought little of men, can and must see that those who fought at our side have in each of them the same willing heart as any dwarf here."

The stout, white-haired dwarf who'd spoken to Kíli earlier stepped forward again. "Death has made a philosopher of you, Thorin. Nevertheless… Well said, laddie."

Thorin laughed and moved to embrace him. "Targo, you old warg!" he cried as he clapped the dwarf on the back. "Yours is another face I regret that I am pleased to see."

Targo nodded as he stepped back from him. "And I you, my King. Also, I daresay we shall both of us be feeling that sentiment many more times before the day is over—though in my case, if it had not been that blasted orc scimitar, I don't think I'd have been too long away from these halls. I'm an old dwarrow, Thorin. No doubt Mahal would have called me home before too long."

"And where is our Maker?" asked another dwarf. "With so many of our kin here, you'd think he would come. Do we not still have his favor?"

"I have no doubt you do, Master Dwarf," spoke up Ellúrien. "However, you must have missed Lord Manwë's order that he be kept from this place for a time."

"I don't get that," said Fíli. "Why would he desire to keep him from seeing to the comfort of his children?"

"Because the Line of Durin is the most favored of Mahal's sons," said Targo.

"And I suspect even the High King of the Valar fears how his brother will react once he discovers the three of you are dead," Ellúrien added, her tone both solemn and foreboding.

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 **Khuzdul:**

 _Dush Nurtu_ \- Dark Day

 **Sindarin:**

 _naugrim_ \- dwarves


	2. Chapter 2

**Deepest thanks to Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, CherryBlossomTime, Trich, Nenithiel, Celebrisilweth, Guest, and Eryn for your reviews of the first chapter! Thanks also to favoriters/followers Starlight Geek and chloepaynter for clicking that button. So happy you all were pleased with the start of this story.**

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 **2\. The Shadow's Long Reach**

"Sauron's arm will have grown long indeed if he thinks he can reach us here."

~ Théoden, _The Two Towers_

Music: "Lament for Thorin" by Eurielle

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Thorin took several minutes to visit with the fallen dwarves, consoling those who were not taking death so well. He at last made his way to a small table with seating enough for himself and his nephews, as well as Targo.

"I must say, my King, that you are taking our situation quite well," the old warrior observed.

"What choice have I?" Thorin replied. "In truth, I made a conscious decision to give up my life for the safety of my people. It was the only way I could take that piece of filth Azog down, and I was determined that he pay with _his_ life for what he had done to Fíli."

He looked for a moment at his oldest nephew, for whom he had been able to do nothing as Azog ran the pike on his arm through his chest. He then shifted his gaze to Kíli. "I had hoped you were spared our fate. What happened to you?"

Kíli swallowed heavily, and Thorin suddenly knew that whatever the young dwarrow was about to say was something he'd rather not hear. But he wanted—needed—to know.

"I went up the hill after Fíli…after he fell. I wanted Azog dead for murdering my brother, and I took my vengeance out on every bloody orc that had the misfortune of getting in my way."

He paused, his eyes traveling briefly to the blonde female elf who'd spoken to them—Ellúrien, Thorin recalled. "Tauriel… She came to find me. Her voice was desperate when she called my name," Kíli went on. "Bolg jumped her from behind—she tried to fight him off, but he'd thrown her against the side of the rock face and then he was holding her up by the throat, choking the life out of her. I had to do something. I attacked Bolg and Tauriel and I fought him together… I guess with her injuries she hadn't much strength left, and after he threw her away from him like so much garbage, he crossed me over his knee and put the end of his mace through my heart."

Thorin stared. "An elf? You died…for an elf?"

"I died fighting to save she whom I love!" Kíli countered hotly. "And so what if she was an elf? She was a lady in distress and I came to her aid. Besides, did you not just moments ago speak in their defense?"

"I did not defend the elves," Thorin scoffed. "I merely recognized their sacrifice for our cause. Durin's beard, Kíli, how could you be such a fool?"

His nephew's expression darkened. "Tauriel saved my life more than once, Uncle. She accepted me for who I am and expected nothing in return. If falling in love with the most beautiful, intelligent, and brave female I have ever known makes me a fool, then so be it."

At that, he pushed away from the table and stalked away. Fíli made to go after him but Thorin stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"How could you, Uncle?" Fíli asked as he sat back down.

Thorin blinked in surprise. "Surely you do not condone that nonsense? Even if his feelings for her were genuine, it could never have worked between them."

"And what makes you think so?" Fíli challenged.

"She was not his One."

"How do you know?"

"Because he did not say she was, laddie," Targo interjected smoothly. "Only that he loved her."

Fíli shook his head, clearly exasperated. "Many a dwarrow has loved a female who was not his One."

"We're not talking about the bedding of females to excise our virginity, Fíli," said Thorin.

"Truly," agreed Targo. "How any dwarf could desire a thin, beardless female for more than a quick tumble is beyond my understanding."

Fíli scowled. "That is not what I meant. Uncle, you know as well as I that there were couples amongst our kin in the Blue Mountains who had openly decreed they were not each other's One, but that had chosen to be together because of their deep affection for one another. Why could that not be the case for Kíli and his elf?"

Thorin sighed. "Fíli, no one would have accepted their union—not her people nor ours. Do you honestly think your mother would have approved?"

"I think not at first, but in time, if Tauriel genuinely made Kíli happy she'd have come around," his nephew replied. "All _Amad_ ever wanted for us was our happiness."

With that, the younger dwarf stood and went in search of his brother. Thorin sighed and shook his head. Throughout their lives, through thick and thin, his nephews had stuck together, supporting each other. He should have known a little something like death would make no difference. "What am I going to do with them?" he bemoaned.

Targo chuckled. "I do not know, but you've until the ending of the world now to figure it out."

 **-...-**

Aulë did not know what Varda was up to, but given it was rare that she came to the Great Forge, he knew something was amiss. She followed him wherever he went, asked questions about his work, and inquired after the dwarves who worked with him there.

Of all the things he had created, they were his most treasured. While he had come to regret that he had not sought permission from the All Father before designing the dwarves, he could not truly regret having made them. His children had taken to the working of metal, stone, and jewels far better than any pupil he'd ever had. Well, with the exception of a few elves of great skill.

There had been a few new arrivals today—six dwarrow in full battle gear had been led to the forge by one of Mandos' assistants. The elf, who'd passed in a battle in the Second Age, had indicated more were expected to arrive before she'd taken her leave to return to the Halls of Waiting. Curious, he had welcomed the new dwarrow warmly before inquiring as gently as possible as to how they'd met their end.

A great battle had been engaged, they said. Erebor had been reclaimed from a dragon and now it was being defended from a massive orc army. Aulë had frowned on hearing that. Orcs did not organize in great numbers—not on their own. Not without some direction from firmly established leadership, as they lacked the intelligence for complex thought and were prone to bickering, which usually led to them killing each other. Concerned now, he had rejoined the six with their kin and made to head for the Halls of Mandos to see for himself what was going on.

Then Varda had arrived and distracted him with her numerous questions. He had quickly sensed some purpose behind her visit, but decorum demanded he entertain her. Thus he had led her through the forge, showing her various projects he and his beloved dwarves were working on, and even introducing her to some of them. But he quickly grew tired of the charade, and when he noted his wife's entrance he called her over.

"Yavanna, my darling, do me a great favor, won't you?" he said in her ear as he embraced her.

He sensed her curiosity. "What would you have me do, my love?" she whispered back.

Aulë stood back, glanced over his shoulder at Varda—who was being entertained with a story from one of the dwarrow smiths—then turned back quickly and said, "Take over showing our sister around. I sense she has come to distract me, but for what purpose I cannot discern. There are new dwarves come to the forge today and I am told more should be arriving, though I've seen none but the first six. I'd like to make my way to Mandos' halls to see if he knows anything of what's happened."

Her brows drew together in consternation, but Yavanna nodded her acquiescence. "Certainly, Aulë. Do come tell me when you find out."

With a grin, he leant his head forward to kiss her brow. "Of course I will. Thank you, my darling."

Seeing that Varda's attention was still on the storyteller, Aulë quickly made his way out.

His step was fast as he made his way to the Halls of Waiting, where upon entering a sense of unease took root in his gut. There were many, many dwarves milling about. Elves as well, and a few of the race of Men who had not yet been called by Eru.

"Bless my beard, is it really you?"

Aulë looked down at the dwarf who had spoken. The young fellow could not have been more than a hundred and fifty, if he was a day.

"Boris, come quickly!" the dwarf said, gesturing blindly behind him. "I… I believe our maker has come!"

With that, the awe-struck dwarrow fell to one knee. Those of his kin around him looked, some gasping in shock. All of them soon did as the first had and dropped to one knee before him. Of course they recognized him, for though he was very tall and fair, he was thickly built, his musculature necessary for the working of heavy stone and metals. He also, alone of the Valar, wore a great beard into which was woven a number of metal beads and precious stones.

He could not help the smile that came to his lips even as he said, "My children, you need not kneel before me. Rise, and let us speak as friends."

The dwarves began to stand, as they did so mumbling in awe that their creator would call himself their friend. Aulë stepped in among them, smiling and speaking in a gentle voice so that they would relax and be themselves. He offered what comfort he could to those that were finding death to be an unpleasant circumstance.

"Brother, what are you doing here?"

Turning, a frown creasing his brow, Aulë looked to find a stricken Mandos before him. "Six of my children were brought to me this morn who spoke of a great battle. I came to see their kindred."

An elf he recognized as the aide from earlier stepped up to Mandos. "Forgive me, my Lord. I took the dwarrow to the forge before Lord Manwë made his decree."

Mandos' eyes remained on him even as he told the girl, "It is all right, child. You did not know."

She bowed her head before stepping back behind him. A look of sadness fell over the face of the Keeper of the Dead as he sighed in resignation, then said, "Come, my brother. Your knowing was inevitable."

Mandos turned and Aulë followed automatically. "My knowing what? Already I am aware a battle has taken place and that many of my children are here in your halls. And while I am grieved to see so many, even I know that death is a part of war, brother."

He was led into another large chamber, also filled with dwarves and elves. He noticed that the two had separated each to their own side of the room and that, too, grieved him—even in death there was apparently still enmity between the two races.

Mandos stopped and turned to the side, the pained expression still holding to his features, and when he looked away from him Aulë's heart stilled and the Smith of the Valar fell to his knees.

"NO!" he cried, his anguished voice reverberating in the chamber. The sight before him was one he should not have seen for many, many years. "My sons. Oh, my beloved sons!"

Thorin stood and took a step toward him. "Mahal, my Lord… Humbled am I by your tears, but do not weep for us. Ours were honorable deaths, our lives given in the defense of our homeland and our kin."

"But my child, you should not be here," Aulë countered. "Death was not the destiny I had envisioned for you, Thorin, son of Thráin. Not yet. Under the mountain you were to rule for many years, and then your sister-son after you. Fíli and Kíli were supposed grow into old age!"

"For that reason only does it grieve me to stand before the father of my people," Thorin replied. "My life I would give a hundred times over if I could but see my sister-sons restored to theirs."

The dwarrow then stepped up to Aulë and did what no other dwarf had ever done—he touched his brow to his in the fashion of his kin, the gesture one of love for another who was family.

Aulë's heart jumped. Thorin was truly the first to go so far, those fallen before him too intimidated by being in his presence to be so familiar with him. Not even Durin the Deathless, first of his line, had done this, though to him Aulë was closer than any other.

He should not have been surprised, however, for from his first days of life Thorin had been bold. He had taken chances others would not, had faced challenges deemed foolhardy by his kin, and survived adversities that would have taken the lives of lesser beings.

Taking a deep breath, Aulë leaned back, smiled weakly at Thorin, and then he got to his feet. Taking in the faces of his nephews behind him, then looking around at those surrounding them, he finally drew his gaze back to Thorin.

"What happened, my son?" he asked, though he had heard some of the tale already. "How came you to be here in the Halls of Waiting?"

Thorin explained about his quest to reclaim Erebor, his regret at falling victim to dragon sickness, and how at last he had beaten that invisible demon to lead a charge against the orc army with his Company behind him. He spoke of taking his best warriors up to the Ravenhill outlook to slay Azog, and as before the story was halted by a surprised Vala.

"I don't understand," Aulë said as he turned once more to Mandos. "How could Azog have been there—I thought Dáin Ironfoot beheaded him more than a hundred years ago?"

"I believe I have the answer to that."

Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to face Manwë, who had entered silently.

Aulë took a step toward him. "What do you mean, brother?"

"I have been in deep meditation since learning of their presence here," Manwë began. "All through this day I was beset by a sense of…wrongness. On seeing these three Sons of Durin, I knew that a great evil had been wrought, and my meditations confirmed this."

The High King of the Valar settled his gaze on Thorin. "You should not be here, nor should the sons of your sister. The battle was set, but the three of you were meant to survive it."

Kíli stood and came to his uncle's side. "What do you mean, we were meant to survive it?"

"Death on this day was not your destiny, Kíli, son of Síli. When you spoke to me of the presence of the pale orc, I was certain some dark magic had been used to interfere," Manwë replied.

"What are you saying, Manwë?" Aulë queried.

"Ilúvatar showed me visions of what had taken place to thwart his will. A necromancer took from the fields of Azanulbizar the body of Azog the Defiler and in secret he was returned to life," Manwë explained.

Aulë frowned deeply. "To what purpose?"

"To hunt us, my Lord," spoke up Fíli as he joined his brother and uncle. "Throughout our quest to reclaim Erebor he pursued us—it was he who ended my life."

"And to prevent peace," murmured Thorin, and all eyes turned to him. He looked up at Aulë. "Earlier it was said that in our line was the power to bring peace to the northeast in Middle-earth. Years it may have taken, but…"

His eyes strayed briefly to Ellúrien, and then to Kíli, before he locked his gaze once more with his maker's. "But there would have been peace. And in joining together with the elves and the men, ours would have been powerful a force indeed. There would be few who would have dared stand against us."

"Dáin Ironfoot is a wise and noble leader, but he is not quite as forward-thinking as is King Thorin," spoke up Targo. "Peace with the elves will take much longer to achieve with the mountain under his rule."

"But who would do such a thing as was done?" Kíli asked. "What fell being would have that kind of power, and why would he use it?"

Aulë's face darkened as rage slowly began to flow through him; the ground began to shake with the force of his anger. " _Sauron_ ," he spat viciously.

Manwë nodded. "He is not near to gaining his full power, but yes. Morgoth's greatest servant has returned. And to answer your question, child," he said to Kíli, "he would use that power to prevent the peace between your kin and the Firstborn from being realized. He would do anything to prevent an alliance between dwarves, elves, and men, for the strength of such an accord could be used against him."

"Damn him!" Aulë thundered. "Damn him to the Void with his cursed mentor!"

The building continued to tremble around them. Tables skittered across the floor, chairs toppled, and the crowd of elves and dwarves began to murmur amongst themselves. Some were having trouble keeping their feet.

"Calm yourself, brother," Mandos said slowly.

"Calm?! You expect me to be calm when I have just learned that Mairon is responsible for the premature deaths of my favorite sons? How many times must I be reminded of his betrayal of me?!"

"Aulë, Mairon betrayed all of us," Manwë reminded him.

"This treachery cannot go unanswered, Manwë. I will not stand for it!" Aulë declared.

"What would you have me do? It is not for us to interfere—"

Aulë's expression grew thunderous. "Oh, so a fallen Maia can wield dark magic, resurrecting the dead to hunt and kill at his whim, but we can do nothing?"

"I will do nothing against the will of Eru," Manwë said firmly.

"Then seek his will! Ask for his blessing that we may act, that we may do _something_ to counter this atrocity!"

For a long time, Manwë only stared. Then he held out his hand to him.

"Come with me, brother. Let us seek his blessing together."

Immediately the tremors ceased. Aulë nodded, then looked down at Thorin and his nephews. "I will do what I can for you, my son. Pray that the All Father will have the mercy to hear our pleas."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Amad_ \- Mother


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks ever so much to Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, Nenithiel, CherryBlossomTime, decadenceofmysoul, and Trich for taking the time out to leave a review, and to new favoriters/followers Princess Blonde, aideglzvrla, edelweissmaia, Hou5eMou5e, Robinbird79, ValarenofGondor, and vlnelson55. So happy you all are enjoying the story!**

 **This is a long chapter, over 4,500 words, because I wove in Kíli's side of the conversation he had with Tauriel in the ether in chapter 69 of _The Journey of Hearts_. If you've read the first story in the series, then you'll recognize it because the dialogue (naturally) is the same. Only this time, you're getting into his head instead of hers.**

* * *

 **3\. Love in Life and Death**

* * *

After storming away from his uncle, Kíli had stood at the window and stewed in his anger. He could not see the beauty that lay beyond the glass for the depth of his annoyance with Thorin.

Fíli found him there after a time and stood in silence on his right. Moments later they were joined by Ellúrien.

"Is it true, what you said?" the elleth asked. "You loved Tauriel?"

Kíli snorted. "What does it matter now? I shall never even know if my affections were welcome."

He expelled a ragged breath as he drew a hand over his face. "I suppose I was a fool, to think it even remotely possible there was a chance she might have loved me in return."

Fíli looked at him. "Did you not say that she sounded desperate when she called your name? That and the simple fact she came looking for you means she at least held you in very high regard."

A half-smile lifted one corner of Kíli's mouth. "Thank you for that, Fee, though I'm sure you disapprove of my choice as much as Thorin does."

"I do not disapprove so much as I am concerned—or would have been," Fíli replied. "You once said you did not fancy elf maids because they were too thin."

"If that is your only concern, it is a weak one, brother," Kíli told him. "When we were locked up in the dungeons of Mirkwood, Tauriel visited me nearly every night. We would talk for hours about anything and everything, and I got to know her as I have no other female."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Fíli roll his. "Of that I am well aware," he grumbled. "Every night that she would come and talk with you, I hardly got any sleep for having to listen to your yammering."

His brother shuffled his feet, then said, "What would have concerned me, Kee, is how others would have treated you had you and your elf acted on your feelings. Thorin is right about one thing—there are not many of our kin or hers who would have looked upon such a union favorably."

Kíli turned to his brother. "Would you have approved?"

There were only three people whose opinions would really have mattered to him: His uncle's had been made abundantly clear. His mother's he would never know. Fíli, on the other hand… He was more than his brother. Fee was his life-long best friend, and he not only wanted his support but needed it. Secretly it felt somehow fitting that they had not long been separated by death.

He did not wish to consider what living without him would have been like.

"Kíli, I would have been happy for you so long as she truly made you happy," Fíli replied.

Seeing the honesty of those words in his brother's eyes, Kíli smiled and inclined his head. He then looked up at the elf standing to his left. "And what about you, my Lady?"

Ellúrien smiled. "Tauriel was not just my captain in the Guard, she was my friend. I felt as close to her as though we were blood kin. On this Master Fíli and I are of the same mind—if loving you would have made her happy, then I would have been happy for her."

She looked down at him, her expression a mixture of kindness and sadness. "'Tis a great pity we shall neither of us know whether or not Tauriel returned your feelings. I rather think I would have liked to see the two of you together, challenging the preconceived notions of love in both our societies."

Ellúrien sighed then and turned her gaze back out the window.

"Did… did you have a sweetheart?" he asked carefully.

The elleth shook her head. "Nay, Master Kíli, though there is one in Middle-earth whom I loved beyond all reason: Ellairë, my twin sister. I fear what will become of her mind and heart when she realizes that I am gone. I have some consolation as our parents are here in Valinor, and so I shall not find myself alone. Ellairë has no one to offer her such comfort."

Her countenance grew sad and Ellúrien left them then. For a time Kíli remained staring out the window, but eventually he and Fíli drifted back to the table where their uncle continued to converse with Targo. Thorin glanced up at him but Kíli refused to meet his gaze, still feeling slighted by his harsh words.

It was not long after that their maker—Mahal himself—came to the Halls of Waiting. Kíli was moved by how deeply Mahal was affected by their presence, though he wished wholeheartedly that he, his brother, and his uncle had not had to die in order to see such a stirring sight.

The Maker's rage on learning that Sauron had returned and resurrected Azog for the sole purpose of exterminating the Durin bloodline had been frightening, but he had understood it. He was pissed too. So much had been lost to them—he would not get to keep his promise to his mother or find out if he and Tauriel could have had something real. Thorin would not see his dream of restoring Erebor to its former glory come to fruition, and Fíli would never know what kind of king he would have made when at last he succeeded him.

Mahal's parting words to Thorin, that he would do what he could, made little sense to Kíli. What was there to be done? Even if it was true what Manwë had said, that they were not supposed to have died, they were nevertheless good and truly dead. None here could deny that sad fact. Middle-earth, and those left behind there, would go on. The Kingdom Under the Mountain would be rebuilt and the kingship would pass to Dáin. He didn't know his distant relative as well as Thorin, but what he knew _of_ him led Kíli to believe he'd do right by their people—he'd led the Iron Hills already for many years.

With a sigh, he turned back to the table and retook his seat, and returned to praying fervently that Tauriel had made it off of Ravenhill alive.

 **-...-**

Varda was not the High Queen of the Valar for nothing—it was but a few minutes after Aulë's departure that she noted his absence. Yavanna was surprised to see alarm come to her face, and did her best to settle the other Valië.

"I'm certain all will be well," she said as she followed Varda out of the forge.

"Yavanna, dearest, you do not know what has transpired," Varda replied as she hurried away. "Manwë truly fears how your husband will react."

"Aulë? What has he to do with this?" Yavanna inquired, concern for her husband now blooming beneath her breast.

When Varda explained, she gasped and her worry increased tenfold. The two were halfway to the Halls of Mandos when the ground suddenly began to shake. Yavanna and Varda both stumbled, but managed to remain upright even as the intensity of the quaking increased.

Sensing a great deal of rage across the deep bond she shared with Aulë, Yavanna sent a silent prayer to the heavens. _Eru, I beg you, calm my husband's anger_.

"Oh no… We are too late," Varda murmured.

The shaking stopped as quickly as it started. Now that she was steady on her feet Yavanna began to run; Varda did likewise, though by the time the two reached the Halls of Waiting, Aulë had already gone.

Yavanna grabbed Mandos by the sleeve. "Where is my husband?" she demanded.

"He and Manwë left together. Aulë is determined that the travesty which has taken place be somehow righted," Mandos replied. "They went to the temple to seek the will of Eru."

Confusion furrowed her brow as Yavanna said, "What travesty?"

Mandos glanced at a table of dwarves, who looked up at them, strangely, with regret etched in their features. Yavanna was not long in wondering why, for when Mandos told her what Manwë's meditation had revealed, she understood why the ground had shook.

Her hand over her heart, she looked around as she said, "It is a wonder he did not bring the building crashing down upon your heads. Oh, my poor Aulë…"

Varda departed then, and though she was not as close to the creations of her husband as Aulë himself was, Yavanna felt compelled to visit with many of them. She began with the three whose presence had disturbed their maker so, dismissing the regret of Thorin that her husband had been so aggrieved.

"It is through no fault of yours, Thorin Oakenshield, that Aulë's spirit is troubled," she said with a note of sadness in her voice. "Let us hope that his prayers with Lord Manwë reach the ears of the All Father and he is granted peace."

As she continued through the rooms into which the newly dead appeared, Mandos began to direct his assistants to lead the dwarves to the forge, as there was no longer a reason to delay their departure. Thorin declared he would be the last to go even though many of his kin had insisted he go first. Yavanna found herself admiring him for his insistence that the "right of my kin to see their forebears" was more important than his own. She was moving further into Mandos' domain as the younger of his nephews quietly expressed a measure of hesitance to his brother, wondering whether or not their father would be upset that he did not remember him.

"Kíli, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," Fíli replied. " _Adad_ will understand, as you were but a wee dwarfling when he passed."

A smile came to Yavanna's lips as she walked on, studying as she often did the tapestries woven by Vairë of the history of Arda. On the walls of the corridors they hung, and also in many of the rooms. It was in one of these she found Míriel, an elf who had been reborn and assigned the task of weaving the history of the House of Finwë, who had been her husband until her death. The elleth was focused on weaving a picture of a red-haired she-elf.

"Blast it!" Míriel cried suddenly, and pushed the frame away from her.

"Child, what vexes thee?" Yavanna asked softly as she stepped into the room.

Míriel gasped as she turned to her. Yavanna smiled in return. "Forgive me for startling you, my dear."

"You are of course forgiven, my Lady," the weaver replied. She then gestured to the tapestry she had been working on. "It is this. I have started this many times, but it keeps changing."

Yavanna frowned. "What do you mean? Who is the girl?"

A smile briefly touched the elleth's lips. "She is Tauriel, my great-great granddaughter. Daughter of Lúnairien, daughter of Eilaia—who was wife to my grandson, Maglor."

Maglor. Yavanna knew that name well, though she would not speak ill of him and the fell deeds of his father's house before a woman who had died giving birth to the ellon's father.

She was drawn from her thoughts when Míriel went on. "She does not yet know of her lineage, though soon it will be revealed to her. I think."

"You think?" Yavanna queried.

"I…cannot be sure. Lord Mandos long ago gifted me with the ability to see the future of my husband's heirs—the better for me to weave the story of their lives—but hers keeps changing. I have started this tapestry only to unweave it and start over near half a dozen times."

Foresight was not one of Yavanna's many gifts, for which she was secretly pleased. The ability to see what was yet to come was in a way frightening—whatever would one do if they knew how someone's life would end, to know and be able to do nothing? She did not at all envy the struggle Manwë surely endured on a daily basis, being more in tune with the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar.

Yavanna stepped closer to the partially finished weave, in which the girl—Tauriel—sat in a comfortable chair by a fireplace with a swaddled babe in her arms. _She seems quite content_ , the Valië thought as she reached a hand out to touch the silken threads.

When her hand made contact with the tapestry, Yavanna found herself besieged by a series of fast-moving images: a still-pregnant Tauriel lay eerily still upon a dais, dressed in a gown of green with flowers laid around her; a man with three grieving children by his side stood watch as a pine box was lowered into a grave…

Other scenes of grieving passed before her mind's eye before a voice deep and resonant said to her, _She is dying, and this cannot be allowed. If she dies, her children not yet born will die with her, and theirs is a future that must not be disturbed. Tauriel must be saved, Yavanna_. _She walks the nether-realm now, and will soon Fade_.

Three faces flashed across her consciousness then. One Yavanna recognized as Thorin's nephew, Kíli. The others she knew with certainty were Tauriel's parents—and all of them were here in Valinor.

Gasping as she backed away from the tapestry, she knew she had to find them. Kíli might still be in these halls, if she were not too late to catch him. Míriel she would send for the two elves, and she had to find Mandos, for he would know what to do next.

Kíli, his two kinsmen, and an older dwarf she'd seen with them earlier were just heading for the door when she and Míriel came running toward them. The weaver ran past the group of dwarves as Yavanna called Kíli's name.

"You cannot yet go to the Great Forge, young master. I need you here," she told him breathlessly.

Kíli glanced at his brother, then back to her. "For what duty may I serve you, my Lady?"

Mandos thankfully appeared then. His wife, Vairë, was by his side; she asked where Míriel had gone to. "I sent her to fetch two elves, for their assistance—and yours, my brother—are needed," Yavanna replied. "A task has been given to me by Eru. There is one who walks the nether-realm that we are meant to save."

Mandos nodded solemnly and directed her to follow him. Yavanna was at his side in but a few steps, with Kíli following behind. She did not need to look over her shoulder to know that his brother and uncle had remained with him, for their footsteps were heavy and made far too much noise for just one dwarf.

They were taken to an empty bedchamber. Two single beds were there, with the usual pieces of accompanying furniture. Mandos took a chair from the side of the room and placed it between the two beds, then looked to Yavanna.

"Shall I lead the dwarf first?" he asked.

Yavanna shook her head. "Nay. I sense it must be the elves, for the child was born to them."

Mandos nodded, and they all waited in silence for the return of Míriel. Thirty agonizing minutes passed before the weaver appeared with a tall, black-haired ellon and a red-haired elleth whose visage caused Kíli and Fíli to gasp in shock.

"Tauriel?" Kíli inquired, looking between the elleth and Yavanna. "We're here because of Tauriel?"

"You know my daughter, Master Dwarf?" the red-haired elf asked.

He nodded. "Indeed, my Lady. She favors you, though her eyes are his," he replied, nodding toward the ellon beside her.

"Come, Lúnairien. Vanendil," said Mandos. "If the child walks the nether-realm, we haven't much time."

"What must we do?" Vanendil asked.

"Lie down and give me your hand," Mandos replied.

The two elves immediately moved to comply, each taking up one of the beds. Mandos sat on the chair he'd placed between them and then held out his hands, which Lúnairien and Vanendil took, and the three closed their eyes in unison.

Kíli turned to Yavanna. "What is going on with Tauriel? What is the nether-realm?"

She glanced at Míriel and Vairë, then looked back at him and said, "The nether-realm is a most unpleasant place, Kíli. Tauriel must be convinced to leave it, for it is not the will of Eru that she remain there."

 _Or perhaps pass through to here_ , the Vala added silently.

Several tense minutes passed. Yavanna, Vairë, and Míriel watched the silently communing trio with clasped hands. Kíli paced anxiously; his brother and even his uncle attempted to still him to no avail. When at last the eyes of the two elves and the Vala were opened, he stopped and looked between them.

"What happened? Is Tauriel all right?" the dwarf asked.

Tears ran down the cheeks of the elleth as she rose to a sitting position; her husband moved immediately to comfort her as did Míriel, her great-foremother. As Mandos gestured for Kíli to take Vanendil's place on the second bed, the ellon looked to him and said, "I do not know what help a dwarf can be to an elf, but I beg you, boy…do what you can for my daughter."

Kíli's nod was solemn, and then he lay back on the bed and held his hand out to Mandos. The two closed their eyes together.

"Now will you explain to us what the devil is going on?" Thorin demanded. "Why is my nephew being taken to this 'nether-realm' if it is so unpleasant a place?"

Yavanna drew a breath as she regarded him, then said, "The nether-realm is a plane that exists between life and death. It was created by the discord sown into the Ainulindalë by Melkor when this world was being made, and spirits that are troubled when death takes their earthly bodies are drawn there. The nether-realm feeds on the discontent in those souls and often deters them from reaching these halls."

"Wait a minute," Fíli interjected. "If Tauriel is there, then that means she is dying. Is that right?"

Yavanna nodded. "I am afraid so. When the All Father spoke to me, he said that she had to live. Her parents and Kíli were shown to me as persons who would have great influence on her, that she might not be swayed by the lures lying in wait to keep her in the nether-realm. Mandos, as the Lord of the Dead, has the ability to act as a conduit to guide their spirits to where she is."

"So she _can_ return to the living world?" Míriel asked.

Again the Valië inclined her head. "If Tauriel can be convinced to return, yes."

Fíli looked to Thorin, then over to where his brother lay prostrate on the bed. "Mahal, I hope he helps her. I shudder to think what will become of him if she comes through in the opposite direction."

 **-...-**

He felt like he was falling. It was a dizzying sensation that stopped abruptly, and then suddenly Kíli was on his feet, surrounded by a gray mist. He looked around, taking a step forward when the fog parted before him.

There was Tauriel, kneeling with her face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed, causing her belly to bounce.

Her belly that looked a great deal larger and rounder than when last he'd seen her. Was… was she _pregnant_? How could that be possible? He had never lain with her.

Oh, of course. The baby obviously was _not_ his. This could only be a vision of Tauriel from the future, showing him that she had moved on without him. Because he was not her One, though sure as the sun rose each day he had thought she might be his. Jealousy of an elf he would thankfully never meet burned a painful hole in his gut, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to smash his fist into the bugger's face.

 _Do not let your anger rule over you, Kíli. Tauriel's life was saved by the one whose child she carries. Had he not intervened, she would have followed you into death, for her grief over you was great. Be grateful to him that he gave her reason to live_.

 _I… I am grateful that she survived the battle, and that his actions prevented her joining me in death_ , Kíli thought, knowing intuitively that it was Eru himself who had spoken in his mind. _For that is my only comfort now in dying_.

 _You must speak to her, my son_.

Drawing a breath, Kíli took another step. "Tauriel?"

She didn't move. Did not even utter a sound.

He took another step. "Tauriel, look at me. Please?"

She finally lowered her hands, and a small gasp escaped her as she looked up at him. Tauriel then tilted her head back and cried out softly, "Oh Eru, _why_? If you wish me to live, why bring him here?"

"If it helps you any, I'm not even sure where 'here' is," Kíli replied.

Her laugh was devoid of mirth as she looked back at him and said, "I believe this place is the realm in between life and death," she said. "My people have often referred to it as the ether."

Kíli felt a frown descend. "Life and death? You mean I'm here because you're dying?"

"Yes."

He closed the distance between them in a few pounding steps and placed his hands on her arms. "No, _amrâlimê_ ," he said firmly as he lifted, forcing her to stand.

"Oh, Kíli," Tauriel said, immediately turning away from him. "You will not wish to call me that when you see."

"See what? That you're with child? Sweetheart, I already noticed that," Kíli told her.

She turned around. "You did? Are…are you angry with me?"

With her? No. With the father, whoever he was?

No, Kíli realized. Jealous, certainly, of he who had given her what Kíli himself had not had the chance to. But angry? No. He could not be angry at the man who had saved her life in his absence.

He realized from the look in her eyes that he was frowning again and tried to relax his features. "Why would I be angry?" he asked.

"Because I did not even mourn you a full year."

Kíli reached forward and took her hand in his, knowing he could be naught but generous to her in her time of need. He knew now why he had been brought here, and even though seeing her full with a child that was not his was both beautiful and bittersweet, he would give her all that he could of himself, that she would remember him fondly. "Your period of mourning is determined by you alone. Besides, I know you mourn me still." He paused and offered her a smile. "I can feel that you miss me, even though your heart now belongs to another."

Tauriel finally smiled—a small one, to be sure, but a smile nonetheless. "I do miss you. I miss your smile, and your laugh. I miss your silly jokes. And I miss the passion you had for life."

"And where is yours? Tauriel, one of the reasons I fell in love with you is because we shared that passion. Where has yours gone that you would want to die?"

She sighed as tears fell once more. "I don't _want_ to die, Kíli."

"Then live, damn it! Fight for your life, for that of the child you carry. Do you not understand that the babe will die with you if you give up?"

"Why would you care if my baby dies, Kíli? It's not your baby—"

"No, it is _your_ baby," he interrupted her. "And you are pleased it is coming, yes?"

Tauriel nodded, a smile returning to her lips. "I am indeed."

"Then I want this child to live because having it will make _you_ happy." No words he had ever spoken were truer. "And the father, he…he is good to you? He makes you happy?"

He asked the question not wanting to know but desperately needing to in equal measure.

She looked at their joined hands. "Yes, he does. He is so good to me, Kíli. He is kind, and forgiving, and loving…"

Kíli took a deep breath. "Then live for him as well as the child you share, for I of all people know how heartbroken he will be if he loses you."

"Oh, my sweet dwarf prince... How noble you are to wish me happiness with another," Tauriel said.

"It matters more to me that you are happy than it does who brings you that happiness. I'd rather you were alive and with someone else than dead where I still cannot be with you," Kíli retorted, knowing in his heart that it was another absolute truth. "Unlike your kin, who are granted leave to depart the Halls of Waiting for Valinor, we dwarrow do not leave the Great Forge once we enter into it. We must bide our time there until the ending of the world. Even had we both died in the battle, or you die now, we would still be apart."

"How do you know that about elves?"

Kíli blinked, and then one eyebrow rose. "You know, I'm not entirely sure. It is as though the knowledge was just…there when I needed it.

"Look… Do I wish I had not died? You're damn right I do. Those few weeks we knew each other were the happiest of my life even if I did spend most of it behind bars, and I'd have given up my share of the treasure in Erebor if that's what it would have taken to be with you. I'd have defied my uncle and your king to be with you. And do I wish the child you carry was mine and not sired by another? I'm not afraid to admit the answer to that is yes as well—I'd so like to have married you and given you a child, or more than one, because I know how much you want a family of your own."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then let it go with a sigh. And though he smiled when he looked up at her again, he knew it was tinged with the sadness he felt for the loss of her. Of what they might have had if he had lived.

"As much as I wish you were going to have a happy life and loads of children with me, you're not. It's too late for us. But you can still have them—you _will_ have them, if you get off that sweet arse of yours and fight to live."

 _You must go let her go now, Kíli. It is time for both of you to move on_.

Kíli didn't want to let her go. He did not want to move on, to let her be with someone other than him. But he knew he had no choice. He had already passed into legend, and she had ages yet to live. And so it was with a painfully shattering heart that he grabbed her hand again, brought the back of it to his lips…

…and then suddenly he gasped, finding himself once more in the bedchamber in the Halls of Mandos.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Adad_ – Father

 _amrâlimê_ – my love


	4. Chapter 4

**Much thanks to Eryn and decadenceofmysoul for the reviews of chapter 3, and new favoriter/follower Snowbirdrose!**

* * *

 **4\. The Choice of Lúthien**

"…for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter."

~ Arwen, _The Return of the King_

* * *

In the Temple of Eru, before an altar on which candles were lit and incense burned, were knelt Manwë and Aulë.

For many minutes the smith was restless, unable to find the calm he needed to commune with the All Father. He knew that Manwë was being supportive in his silence, but eventually the king spoke to him.

"Brother, I sympathize with you, truly, but Eru will not hear your plea if you speak from a place of anger."

Aulë sighed. "I know. Forgive me, brother, it's just… I feel this betrayal as a personal slight. Mairon was once one of my finest pupils—not only did he forsake my teachings when he turned to the darkness, he has attacked my children. To attack my children is to attack me."

"I wonder if Ilúvatar felt anything akin to that when Morgoth sought to destroy Arda," Manwë observed.

Aulë tilted his head, now wondering the same. He then drew a deep breath and once more closed his eyes. As he fought to lock his anger away and focus on the light and power that flowed through him—his greatest gifts from Eru—he exhaled slowly. A measure of peace soon settled his tormented spirit, and it was not long until he felt the warmth of Ilúvatar's presence in his mind.

 _I know why you are come to me, my son_.

"Please, let us help them," Aulë pleaded aloud. "Do not allow the treachery of Sauron to go unanswered."

 _What would you have me do? The Sons of Durin have already accepted their fate_.

"But it was not their fate! Did you not show Manwë that an early death was not their destiny? My Lord, Sauron thwarted your will by using necromancy to resurrect a vicious enemy of my children—will you really do nothing?"

Aulë immediately regretted the words and their inherent lack of respect. "Forgive me, Father."

 _The peoples of Middle-earth must be allowed to make their own way. The Valar and the Maiar are meant to guide them, not fight their battles for them. Only when their hope is gone are you to intervene_.

Shock coursed through the Vala. Never had Aulë imagined Eru would take no action when his divine plan had been purposely unraveled. Would the All Father truly allow Sauron's evil actions go unchallenged?

 _What would you have me do?_ Ilúvatar asked again.

What _did_ he want him to do? Aulë wondered. Certainly whatever course was set from here would have an impact, but what could they do that would make the greatest difference and do the most good?

A thought—more a memory, really—came to him then: The gloriously beautiful elf-maid Lúthien, whose song of grief for the loss of her mortal love had moved the Keeper of the Dead to pity. Mandos had turned to Manwë for advice, and then as now the two had sought the will of Eru. Ilúvatar had offered Lúthien two choices—to remain in Aman in eternal bliss as reward for her brave actions in life, or return to Middle-earth with Beren to live a new life as a mortal...and eventually die as he would.

Her love for Beren was so deep that she had chosen the latter.

"Can we not return them, my Lord?" Aulë asked. "Grant these three new life. Their deaths are what Sauron desired, let us deny him that!"

Silence met his plea and stretched on for so long that Aulë began to despair that the answer was "No."

 _It is not fair_ , he mused sadly, _that my sons should be robbed of a full, natural life. I am sorry, Thorin, that I have failed you_.

The presence in his mind grew stronger, and Aulë was filled with a sudden belief that all would be well.

 _If the Sons of Durin are reborn, a price must be paid. All cannot be as it was_.

"I am sure they will agree," Aulë replied earnestly.

 _Do not be so certain. Thorin Oakenshield is terribly proud—he may not be so willing to return when you tell him that the kingship of Erebor will not be his for the taking. He has given it up in death, he must give it up in life. It is but one of a number of concessions they all will be required to make. Young Kíli is even now being made aware that he would not have his heart's desire_.

"So things will change. Surely returning to life, any life at all, is better than having their lives stolen from them altogether."

 _That will be for the three of them to decide_.

 **-...-**

Fíli watched his brother and worried for him. Kíli had said next to nothing since his encounter with Tauriel in the nether-realm, only speaking briefly with her parents to say he hoped he'd done enough.

Afterward, they had been at last led to the Great Forge to be reunited with their ancestors. Thorin's reunion with his father, mother, grandfather, and brother Frerin was emotional, despite his uncle clearly trying to hold his feelings in check. Fíli himself had been hard-pressed to keep from shedding a few tears when he'd seen his father. Síli had cried unabashedly as they embraced, his arms tight around him, his own father Sidig standing off to one side. When it was Kíli's turn to be wrapped in a bear hug, he responded by stiffening, then relaxing and allowing himself to be held.

Then Síli said something in his ear that led to his returning the hug and crying into his shoulder.

More relatives from days past came to speak to them, so many that Fíli lost count. He soon forgot which name went to which face. Feeling like he'd never be able to keep up, he settled on an old, familiar behavior to help himself cope with all the overwhelming feelings scratching their way to the forefront of his thoughts, the ones that had been simmering just below the surface ever since he had woken in the Halls of Mandos and known he was dead.

He looked after his brother.

There was a large gathering of the Line of Durin (and a dozen or more others related by blood or marriage) sitting around an immense table while Thorin spoke of the quest to reclaim Erebor—even Durin the Deathless had come! They sat forward when he described the great battle, listening eagerly. Fíli joined in, offering his view where necessary, but his eyes often strayed to Kíli, who sat brooding in silence to his left. When food and ale were served (apparently even disembodied spirits needed to eat), he pressed a mug into his brother's hand and encouraged him to drink. Now and again, he prodded him to eat.

Every dwarf at the table—in the room, for that matter—stood and bowed their heads when Mahal entered, the King of the Valar by his side. His eyes surveyed the room, and on catching sight of them, headed over to their table.

Thorin was the first to speak. "My Lords, you honor us with your presence."

Manwë nodded his head, then looked to Mahal. "My son, I must speak with you and your nephews at once," the Maker said.

Thorin's eyes turned to Fíli's, and his to Kíli's. Fíli then looked to the two Valar and said, "Is something wrong, my Lord?"

"Not in the sense you mean, child. Come with me and I will explain," Mahal replied.

Fíli looked once more to Thorin, who looked to his father and brother. "Go, my son," Thráin encouraged him, and Thorin nodded.

His uncle rounded the table and Fíli followed in silence, Kíli at his side. Mahal and Manwë led them to a comfortably appointed parlor, the Maker regarding all three of them before he said, "I have spoken with the All Father regarding the fell deed that lead to your deaths. We are granted leave to present you with two choices."

Thorin looked between the two angelic beings. "What are these choices?"

"You can remain here in Aman, working in the Great Forge with your maker and your kin," said Manwë. "Your lives here will be filled with plenty and peace. It is the same reward you would have been given had you passed as originally you were meant to."

To Fíli that really didn't sound too bad. Yes, he would miss his mother. He would miss his friends, and some cousins with whom he'd been particularly close. But he would see them again, surely, when their time came.

"And the other choice?" asked Kíli, speaking for the first time in hours.

Mahal's gaze fell on him. "Ilúvatar has said he will grant you rebirth, a choice never before presented to any of your kin. However, if you choose to foil the devious plot wrought by Sauron and walk this path, there will be prices to pay."

"What prices?" Thorin asked with a frown.

"I do not know them all, for the All Father did not tell me," Mahal replied, "but one he mentioned would be the loss of your kingship."

"Uncle, no! You cannot give that up, after fighting so hard for it!" Fíli exclaimed.

The older dwarf shook his head. "Fíli, I have already given it up—I am dead, remember? Rule of Erebor was clearly not meant to be mine."

"But it was—Mahal said so!"

"In another lifetime it was, and that life was already stolen from me. I meant what I said before: my life I would give a hundred times over to see you and your brother returned to yours. If passing the kingship of Erebor to you is the price—"

"It will not be his, either."

They both looked to Mahal. "I am sorry, my son," he said, "but that is a price that Fíli must pay if he desires to return to Middle-earth. Your kinsman Dáin Ironfoot is now King Under the Mountain, and he will be until the twilight of the Third Age."

Thorin's expression was incredulous. "You mean to tell me that the penance to be exacted for choosing to be reborn is that rule over the seven families must be forsaken by the senior Sons of Durin? Not even Kíli will be king?"

Kíli snorted derisively. "That is not my price, Uncle, and even if it were I would not care. My price is already paid."

Fíli's brow furrowed in consternation. His brother's attitude must have something to do with what happened in the nether-realm. He placed a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "Kee, what—?"

Kíli shrugged him off, his eyes on Mahal. "I will go back, if only to see my _amad_ that I may keep the promise I made to her."

The Maker looked to Manwë and they both nodded. Fíli sighed deeply, then said, "I suppose I shall go back with him. Someone will have to keep him out of trouble."

"I'm not a child, Fíli," his brother bristled. "I don't need looking after like some wayward dwarfling."

"That you think so proves otherwise. Besides, I'd break my own promise to _Amad_ if I let you go alone."

Kíli looked to him then, and after a moment the tight set of his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he nodded curtly.

"Thorin?"

Fíli studied his uncle as he locked gazes with their maker. Though his expression betrayed nothing, having known the dwarrow his entire life—and beyond—he knew that he was wrestling with the decision. There was merit in both choices, and it was just like Thorin to measure the pros and cons of each before choosing a course of action.

"I would speak with my father, grandfather, and brother if I may," he said at last. "Fíli and Kíli should speak to their father as well."

"Certainly. I will send for them that they may join you here," Mahal told him.

The Vala stepped out of the parlor, then returned a moment later to inform them that a page had been sent for their kinsmen. They waited but a few minutes for the four dwarves to arrive.

It was Thorin who laid their choices out for them, and a moment of silence followed before Thrór said, "If going back will be a thorn in the side of that fell creature—whether you are king or no—then do it. Don't let my failings be yours. Do not let the dark side win, _Sigindashat_."

" _Sigin'adad_ is right," added Frerin. "And so what if you are not king? Yes, it was your birthright, but you do not need to be a king to do good for our people"

Thorin snorted. "But why must Fíli and Kíli pay the price for my choice?" he fumed.

"It is _their_ choice to pay that price," offered Síli, who looked to Mahal. "Is it not, my Lord?"

Mahal inclined his head in agreement, and Fíli felt his father's eyes on him. "As much as I wish to be with you, my _dashshat_ , better that you come back to the Great Forge when you are old and gray instead of young dwarrow who've not even had the chance to court a female. I would have you go back to your _amad_ that she does not suffer the loss of her children as well as those who have gone before you, which will leave her alone in the world."

"Do not worry, _Adad_ ," Kíli replied firmly. "I will not leave our mother to the cold embrace of despair."

Fíli nodded. "In this we are in complete accord. We've a chance to spare her the grief of our loss, so we will take it."

His father looked to him with love and pride in his eyes, and Fíli felt emotion swell in his chest when he took him and his brother by the head as Thorin had done earlier that day, touching his brow to theirs.

"What say you, Thorin Oakenshield?" Manwë asked. "Will you remain in the Great Forge with your forebears, or follow the desire of your maker and thwart the dark will of the Deceiver?"

Fíli stood back from his father to look over at his uncle. He found Thorin watching them, and then he looked to Thrór, Thráin, and Frerin in turn. At last his eyes once more met those of Mahal, and with a sigh he said, "I will go back, and discover what new destiny awaits me in my second life. Perhaps I will be surprised and find that I like being freed from the burden of kingship."

"Perhaps you will," said Mahal with a smile.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Sigindashat_ – Grandson

 _Sigin'adad_ – Grandfather

 _dashshat_ – sons


	5. Chapter 5

**I give thanks to reviewers CherryBlossomTime and Nenithiel for their opinions of chapter 4. Thanks also to MamaDragon9711, Perchemi, and ejj for favoriting/following!**

* * *

 **5\. All Around Me Are Familiar Faces**

Music: "Mad World" by Gary Jules

* * *

"I have just gotten you back, and already you are leaving me again."

Thorin's brows rose as he looked into the eyes of his mother. "Do you wish me to remain, _Amad_? Tell me that is your heart's desire and I will bid my goodbyes to Fíli and Kíli straight away."

She shook her head even as tears slipped from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks into the fine hairs of her beard. "No, _dashatê_. Your sister and her children need you more than I."

In the next moment, Thorin found himself wrapped in a pair of arms that held him almost as tightly as his father's had. He returned his mother's embrace with near as much strength as she.

"I love you, _Amad_. For many years have I missed your warmth, and so shall I miss it for however many I live in this new life."

"And I love you, Thorin."

"It is time to go, Uncle."

With a deep sigh, Thorin released his mother and she turned to Fíli, to whom she gave a weak smile as she reached up and patted his cheek.

"You be strong for your brother, Fíli. I have a feeling that though he has chosen to return, he will not have so easy a time adjusting as I think you will," she said.

Fíli nodded. "I will, _sigin'amad_. It has been an honor to know you these few hours."

Her smile widened. "We will meet again one day, _sigindashat_. Then we will have more time to learn of each other—though I will say that from what I have seen, you are a true Son of Durin."

Fíli nodded his head and turned away. Thorin took one last moment of time with his mother to touch his brow to hers before he followed.

He, Fíli, and Kíli were then escorted back to the Halls of Waiting. There Mandos greeted them, and when Manwë explained what was to happen, the Lord of the Dead led them through a maze of corridors until they came at last to a room that looked to Thorin as though it were a small temple. There were runic carvings in all the languages of the elves, the dwarves, and of men on the columns around the room, and at the end opposite the double-door entry was an altar.

"Here is where I come to commune with the All Father on matters relating to life and death," said Mandos reverently. "I think it appropriate that the dead be sent unto their new lives in this place."

He then directed the three of them to kneel before the altar. Once Kíli and Fíli were on their knees, Thorin slowly lowered himself to his and looked up at the three Valar, who now stood facing them.

"I cannot say in what condition you will arrive back in Middle-earth, but I suspect you should be hale and hearty," Mandos began. "Nor can I guarantee as to precisely where and when you will be placed—the divine will of Eru will determine these things."

Thorin did not like the sound of that, though he did not voice his displeasure. He could hardly argue the logistics when it was a miracle they were to be going back at all. He imagined, though, that it would be some weeks or months after the battle, if Dáin was already well-established as King Under the Mountain.

Mahal, Manwë, and Mandos then clasped their hands together and began to chant with low voices in a language he did not understand. Their voices rose in volume each time the mantra was repeated, and as they did they became effused by a brilliant white light. The light grew to blinding as the voices of the Valar reached a deafening pitch, and then suddenly Thorin knew no more.

 **-...-**

Tauriel and Bard were just finishing lunch with their son when he asked her, "What are your plans for this afternoon, while I work myself to death with trade contracts?"

She grinned. "I am taking Lucanío down to the fields today. We are going to help with weeding in preparation for the last harvest, and then we will pick corn for our supper and strawberries for dessert. I thought it would be a good lesson for him."

Bard nodded. "'Tis a good man that knows how to work for his food, my son. Never take for granted that you are a prince, for you could just as easily have been born a pauper."

Lucanío's expression was as serious as a two-year-old's could be as he nodded. "Yes _Dada_ ," he replied.

When lunch was done and goodbyes were exchanged, Tauriel led Lucanío to the foyer of the manor, where their bodyguards were waiting. Ellairë and Carr nodded respectfully at her entrance and the four set off. It took just fifteen minutes to reach the fields in the valley where the majority of Dale's grown foods were cultivated.

They spent more than two hours pulling weeds with some of the farmers. When Lucanío asked why they were doing it, Tauriel explained why it was important to weed even so late in the season.

"We would not want weeds mixed in with our beans, now would we?" she said, sending her son into a fit of giggles.

When they were done with their share of the work, she took Lucanío to the corn patch, showing him which ears were the best on the stalks and explaining how one kernel of corn could be planted to grow many. They gathered enough for their family and the household staff before moving on to the strawberry vineyard. There she once again explained how the plant was grown and how to tell the berries were ripe. She then stood back and watched her little boy go to work, a smile on her face as he carefully took each plump berry from the vine and placed it in the basket.

Her eyes drifted upward, and Tauriel found her gaze drawn as it often was toward Ravenhill. A fleeting surge of melancholy passed through her each time she remembered what had happened there.

She felt a tugging on her sleeve and looked down to find Lucanío staring up at her. "Why are you sad, _Nana_?" he asked.

Smiling at him, she said, "I'm not really sad, _mellion_ , it's just… Whenever I look to the old outpost up there, I remember that a very dear friend of mine died fighting to save my life."

Lucanío's eyes grew big. "You was in danger? What happened?"

Tauriel realized suddenly that she and Bard had never spoken to their son about the darkness of the world; things such as evil and dark magic, or foul creatures like orcs, goblins, trolls, or wargs had never come up in conversation with him simply because they had never seen a reason to mention them. A part of her wished to change the subject, to keep the slow destruction of his innocence at bay—he was just two years old, after all.

But she could not. She had brought it up, and would answer his question to the best of her ability without going into frightening detail.

"Before your _dada_ and I met, there was a great battle—right here in this very valley," Tauriel began. "Very bad creatures called orcs had come here to try and take control of the Lonely Mountain after your _dada_ killed the dragon."

The death of Smaug at his father's hand was a story they had told him only a few weeks ago. The little boy had been awestruck at his father's bravery, cementing Bard's status as his hero.

"They wanted to take the dwarves' home away from them? Didn't they just get it back when that mean old dragon died?" Lucanío asked.

She nodded. "That's right. Smaug had slept there a very long time before they woke him up, but when he died they could all move home again. And the orcs didn't want the dwarves to have the mountain because of all the gold that had been stored there."

That was only part of the truth, but a toddler had no need to be told of Sauron.

"I was fighting a big, scary orc right up there," Tauriel went on, pointing up to the outlook. "My friend Kíli was in trouble and I wanted to help him, but he had to come to help me instead, and we fought the big orc together. But I had already been hurt real bad and Kíli was smaller than both of us, even though he was a very strong dwarf. That mean old orc took his life, and I was saved again by another friend before he could take mine as well."

"Who was the other friend?"

Tauriel smiled again, having heard from Legolas his part in the tale during her stay in Imladris three years ago. She had not seen him since, not even at the coronation; Elrond told her then that he had not accompanied them because he was acting as a guardian of Estel while he and the twins were away.

"His name is Legolas, and he is a prince like you. King Thranduil is his father," she replied at last.

Her eyes rose to the old outlook again, and she recalled then that there was supposed to be a memorial carved into one of the cliff faces.

"Lucanío, would you like to see something very special?" she asked her son.

The little boy grinned and nodded his head eagerly. "What are we going to see?"

"King Dáin once told your _dada_ that there is a memorial up there where my friend Kíli died. Two of his kinsmen died near there as well, and the dwarves wanted to mark the occasion with a special carving of them to honor the sacrifice they made for their friends and their people."

She had never seen the memorial herself, having not had a desire to return to Ravenhill after the last time she had been there, just prior to the expedition Bard had led the first year after the battle. Having spoken of it now, she felt strangely compelled to go and pay her respects.

Tauriel turned to Ellairë and Carr, who were standing just a few feet away, and informed them where they were headed. The bodyguards immediately fell into step beside their queen and prince as they trekked toward the hill. The winding stair that led up to the outpost on the southern bank of the river was narrow and steep, forcing them to climb single-file—thank goodness, Tauriel mused, that she had not worn a dress today.

As they neared the top, she told Lucanío that the reason the old outpost was called Ravenhill was because it used to be the place where the ravens of Erebor made their nests. Ever since the battle, however, they had taken to roosting in the ruins on the north bank.

"Do you think it's 'cause they know people died here, and that's why they don't want to sleep on the south bank no more?" Lucanío asked as they climbed onto a landing at last.

"I had not considered that, but it is possible," Tauriel replied as she looked around.

Memories filled her with melancholy again, and she took a deep breath as she walked into the first chamber—she'd killed two or three orcs here.

"Where's the carving?" Lucanío asked.

Tauriel pursed her lips in thought. "I am not sure, _ion_. Why don't you and Carr look in that direction, and Ellairë and I shall go this way."

"All right, _Nana_. Come on, Carr, we gotta find it first!"

"Majesty," Carr said with a nod of his head, as he fought a grin and followed his charge.

"Such enthusiasm," Ellairë observed. "Lucanío is a great delight, even in this place."

Nodding, Tauriel started off down a semi-dark corridor. "I would have him bring light to this sad and dreary place if he can. This outlook saw too much death that afternoon."

"As did Dale and the valley below," Ellairë murmured.

It was several minutes later that a shout from Carr sent the two _ellith_ running back in the direction they had come.

"Your Majesty! Come quickly!"

Fear that something had happened to Lucanío lent speed to Tauriel's steps as she flew through the chambers and up a set of stairs, onto the very landing where Kíli had fallen. She was terrified she would come upon Carr cradling her injured son.

She did not expect to find them both standing over three prone dwarves lying on the ground—three dwarves who were supposed to be dead and buried deep beneath the mountain.

"What in Manwë's name?!" Ellairë gasped.

Tauriel approached cautiously, feeling her entire body trembling with shock at the sight before her.

"Majesty, perhaps you should not go near them," Carr cautioned.

"I… I have to," she replied simply, stepping carefully between the bodies of Thorin, who lay in the middle, and Kíli, who lay on his right.

Just as they were when buried.

She knelt slowly, a hand on one of her knives in case some act of dark magic was at work and one of them attacked her. The shaking of her outstretched hand increased as she reached to feel for a pulse at the base of Kíli's throat.

"Oh, Elbereth, he's alive!" she exclaimed even as she drew her hand back sharply.

"That—that's not possible," Carr said. "They were entombed beneath the mountain. You and the king were both there!"

"I know that!" she snapped. "I was also right here when Kíli died!"

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Tauriel reached forward and checked Kíli again. The pulse was still there, thumping steadily beneath his skin. She turned to check Thorin as Ellairë knelt and checked Fíli, and a look at her bodyguard's stunned expression told her the impossible.

They were alive. All of them.

"What's happened, _Nana_? Who are they?" Lucanío asked.

Looking over her left shoulder at her son, Tauriel noticed for the first time that carving had been done here, on the wall to the left of the boy and his bodyguard. Some unknown Dwarven artist had captured the exact likenesses of the three dwarves she now knelt beside, and beneath their faces were runes in Khuzdul. She had no idea what they said as she could not read the language—the dwarves would teach it to no one outside their race, least of all an elf—but imagined their names were given and that something had been said about their sacrifice.

"Sir Carr," she began. "Take my son back to the city at once. Locate the king and send him here, post haste. Make sure he brings our healers and a wagon—a covered one—and blankets, something to cover their faces."

Tauriel stood and faced the soldier. "Tell no one what you have seen save for King Bard, Laivindil, and Gildan, is that understood? We must know what has happened before knowledge of their presence is revealed."

Carr nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will go at once."

She turned her attention to Lucanío. " _Mellion_ , you must do me a great favor. Do not speak of these dwarves to anyone. We have to keep them a secret until we know what's happened—can you do that for me?"

Lucanío nodded solemnly. "Yes, _Nana_ —I won't tell anyone a single thing!"

Tauriel grinned. "There's a good lad. Go with Carr now."

When the two had gone from the landing, she turned back to the dwarves and knelt down again. "What happened here? How can they _be_ here?" she mused aloud.

"If it is not the work of the Dark Lord, then it can only be by the will of Eru," Ellairë replied. "To what purpose, though, I cannot begin to imagine either way, my Lady."

Her bodyguard turned toward her then. "What will we do if they should wake before the king arrives?"

Tauriel laughed nervously. "I don't know—talk to them? Ask them how they got here?"

It was nearly an hour later that Bard came thundering through the tunnel onto the landing, Laivindil and Gildan on his heels.

"By the stars!" Bard exclaimed when his eyes fell upon the dwarves. Tauriel and Ellairë stood to make room for the healers, who knelt immediately to check on their patients.

"Have they regained consciousness at all?" Laivindil asked.

"Nay, though we have monitored their pulse and breathing and both have remained strong and steady," Tauriel replied.

Tauriel moved to her husband's side as the healers looked over the three dwarves, murmuring to each other in Sindarin. Bard put his arm around her waist and placed a kiss on her temple; she leaned into him, needing the comfort he offered after the shock she had received.

Laivindil looked up at them. "We cannot conduct a thorough examination here—though based on what we _can_ see, they appear perfectly healthy."

"There is, unfortunately, no way to ascertain what—if any—damage has been done to their minds from whatever process was used to bring them back," Gildan added. "That is, if it was dark magic. If Ilúvatar has granted them new life, I would imagine their faculties to be intact. We will not know for certain until they wake."

"We must get them down the hill and into the wagon, that we can make our way home again," Bard said then. "Though I do not know how we shall do so without litters."

"There are three elves here, my Lord," said Ellairë. "We can carry them without trouble."

Bard looked to her and then nodded. Tauriel drew a breath and moved away from him, walking over to Kíli's side and dropping down so that she could lift him into her arms. Gildan lifted Thorin into his and Ellairë took charge of Fíli.

The group was silent as they carefully picked their way down the hillside. Tauriel gave a silent thanks to the Valar that the presence of the wagon down below—where Bard's bodyguard waited—had not drawn the curious. Magnus gasped in shock when he took sight of their cargo, but said nothing as he helped to lift the dwarves into the wagon. Laivindil and Gildan then climbed into the back with them.

"Once we are in the city, I'll have word sent to Dáin that I have need to see him," Bard said as he climbed up behind Tauriel on his horse, then he called over his shoulder to Magnus, who was in the wagon's seat with Ellairë, that they should proceed.

Tauriel nodded. "Yes, he should be made aware of what's transpired—though I would say nothing of precisely why he must come. I feel it is imperative we keep their presence a secret until we know more."

"In that we are in agreement, my darling."

Tauriel could only think it was by the grace of the Valar that the group made it into Dale and arrived at the Healer's Hall with no incident. As they rode through the city, some of the people stared in curiosity and a few asked if anything was wrong, though Bard quickly assured them all was well. It was when they finally arrived at the hall that Tauriel wondered briefly how they were going to get the dwarves inside without their being seen.

"Did you not say something to Carr about blankets?" Bard reminded her as they dismounted from Huron.

As they were unloading the wagon, Bard bid Magnus to ride to the Lonely Mountain to seek audience with the dwarves' king. "Tell him only that it is urgent I speak with him, and bring him directly here."

Magnus acknowledged the order and went immediately to carry it out. Tauriel was certain that there were more than a few passers-by that thought the three elves carrying large, covered bundles into the Healer's Hall was strange, but she paid them no heed as Laivindil led them inside and to a room at the back that had three beds. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were laid out as Tilda slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Please do not be alarmed, _rían nín_ ," Laivindil said when Tauriel looked to her with a frown. "I thought it a wise precaution that we have one other trained healer to assist us on the chance that both Gildan and I are both called away."

"Don't worry, Tauriel," Tilda added as she moved across the room to stand next to her at Kíli's side. "I'll not tell a soul what I know."

Tauriel sighed and nodded. "I know that. Forgive me, _iell nín_. I think I am still in shock."

Ellairë slipped out of the room as the three healers began removing armor and chain mail—all of it what the three had worn the day of the battle. But none of it was damaged. There was no dirt save for the trace amount on their backs from lying on the ground, and there were no bloodstains—it was as though they had just dressed for the day. All three dwarves were stripped down to their undergarments and examined thoroughly before they were redressed, at which time the three healers turned to the king and queen to report their findings.

"Physically they appear to be in perfect condition," Laivindil began. "They're as clean as their clothing and armor. There are no markings other than old scars from years before they…"

"It's all right," Tauriel said. "You can say it."

"I don't understand," Tilda said. "What happened to the wounds that killed them? Weren't they all run through?"

Tauriel nodded slowly. "I… I know that's what happened to Kíli. Thorin and Fíli I'm not certain."

"Do you wish us to try and wake them, Your Majesties?" Gildan asked.

"Nay," replied Bard. "At least not until Dáin is come. I think one of their own should be present for whatever happens when they do."

It was a longer wait for the dwarf king than when she had waited for Bard to come to Ravenhill, and Tauriel was getting restless. What was taking him so long? Had Magnus not been able to convince him to come? Surely seeing Bard's own bodyguard was the messenger would convince Dáin the need for his presence was great.

She'd just sat next to Bard after a second round of nervous pacing when the heavy footfalls typical of the dwarves could be heard in the foyer. The booming sound of Dáin's voice was not far behind.

"Is this not your where your healers ply their trade, lad?"

"It is indeed, my Lord," Magnus was heard to reply.

"Bard's not injured in some way, is he? Or your elf queen?"

That was Dwalin. Tauriel looked at Bard, who sighed as he stood. "Should have expected him as well," he murmured as she joined him in standing. "Dáin never goes anywhere without him."

Bard opened the door and stepped through it to meet the dwarves. Tilda came to Tauriel's side and took her hand, smiling up at her encouragingly. "It'll be all right, I'm sure of it. For whatever reason they've come back, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli are here. And they're alive. That is a _good_ thing, Tauriel."

She could hear Bard speaking to Dáin and Dwalin, telling the two dwarves that what he had to show them would shock them. Dáin grumbled about how he didn't care for the cloak and dagger nonsense, to which Bard replied he would understand when he saw what was behind the door.

When he at last opened the door again, Bard came through and stepped to the side for the dwarves to enter. Dáin drew a sharp breath as his eyes fell upon the three figures on the beds. He went immediately to Thorin's side as Dwalin came into the room.

"What in the name of Mahal is going on here?!" the warrior asked at precisely the same moment that Fíli gasped loudly and opened his eyes.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _dashatê_ \- my son

 _sigin'amad_ \- grandmother

 **Sindarin:**

 _Dada_ \- dad/dy (combination of the Dalish "Da" and Sindarin "Ada")

 _Nana_ \- mom/my

 _mellion_ \- beloved son

 _ion_ \- son

 _ellith_ \- female elves

 _rían nín_ \- my queen (lit. my "crowned lady")

 _iell nín_ \- my daughter


	6. Chapter 6

**More thank yous go out to reviewers Robinbird79, readergirl4985, Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, Guest, Eryn, and CherryBlossomTime for all the kind words! Also giving a shout out to new follower Helena1414!**

* * *

 **6\. The Dreams In Which I'm Dying**

"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad/ The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."

~ _Mad World_

* * *

Air. He needed air.

Fíli choked on nothing as he fought to catch his breath—what had happened to him?

Even as he thought the question, the answer all but exploded across his consciousness. Oh Mahal, he had _died_.

"It's all right, Fíli. Try to calm down and relax."

His _amad_ 's voice—no, that wasn't right. Not his mother, but some other female whose softly spoken words were meant to sooth. It was a nice voice, he mused, as she encouraged him to relax again.

"What's wrong with 'im? What kind of black magic did you elves do ta raise 'em all from th' dead?"

Dáin's voice—his cousin was here.

"I'll thank you to mind yourself, Dáin. Think very carefully before you dare insult my wife or her kin again in my halls."

Another familiar voice—the bargeman from Lake-town. _I thought he was a widower—when did he take an elf to wife?_

"I asked you here as a courtesy, as you are my friend and these three your kin," Bard went on. "I could just as easily have kept our discovery a secret from you."

"Besides, for what purpose would an elf desire to raise a dwarf from the dead, supposing he or she even had the power to do so?" asked an unfamiliar male voice.

"But how did they get here?!" demanded yet another familiar voice—Dwalin was here too.

Wherever here was.

As he labored to breathe properly, Fíli rapidly blinked his eyes to try and bring them into focus. Looking to his left, he noted a fair female with long blonde hair observing him with a concerned expression. Behind her stood four whose faces he recognized: Bard and Dáin were staring each other down with anger in their features. Beside Dáin stood Dwalin, who stared at Fíli as though he'd seen a ghost, and beside Bard stood a weary-looking Tauriel. Her eyes strayed to his as she answered Dwalin's question, saying she and her son—

Wait, Tauriel had a child? Could his brother be an _adad_? He'd certainly fancied her, that much had been clear.

No, his mind reasoned. She and Kíli had never been alone together long enough to engage in pleasures of the flesh.

All the questions were making his head hurt. He groaned, silencing Tauriel mid-sentence, and tried to lift his hand to his face. Tried and failed, because he could not get the appendage to obey his command.

"Can't…move," he croaked out. At least he could talk.

The blonde female—a healer, perhaps?—took his hand in hers. "Do you feel this?"

Yes, he could—her nails were digging into his palm, her hand warm and delicate in his. Fíli tried to nod and found he could not move his head, either.

"Yes," he managed. "Nails. Hand is…tingling now."

The female looked up and spoke to someone on his right. A male elf, he was certain, given his fairness, the long hair, and the robes he wore. That and the fact she'd addressed him in the Elvish language, which Fíli did not understand but had heard enough of while locked up in the Mirkwood dungeon.

"What was that? What did ye say?" Dwalin asked gruffly.

The elf looked to him. "My wife speculated that while it would seem Fíli is paralyzed, that he can feel her hand gives her hope the condition is temporary."

Ah, so his was the unfamiliar voice from before.

"I have treated patients with paralysis before," the female said. "Those who regained their mobility made mention of tingling as the feeling returned."

Dáin turned away from Bard and walked over to Fíli's bedside. "What happened, laddie? Do you have any idea how you got here?"

Fíli felt himself frown—ah, his face worked too. "Don't even know…where here is," he said.

"You're in Dale, Fíli," Bard told him. "My son and his bodyguard discovered you, Thorin, and Kíli up on Ravenhill. Tauriel sent them to alert me and we brought you all here."

 _My son_. So the child who'd found him was Bard and Tauriel's.

When the _razâd_ had _that_ happened?

Something was wrong, _very_ wrong. How in the world could Tauriel and Bard have had time to conceive a child together? And…

…why was he here? Why was he alive, when he should be dead? That he did not question why Thorin and Kíli had been mentioned in the same breath as him was disturbing. It was as though he'd already known they had fallen… but _how_ had he known?

"When?" he said.

Tauriel, perhaps sensing that he was not questioning how long it had been since being discovered, stepped up next to Dáin and took his hand from the blonde woman—elf? She held his gaze steadily as she drew a breath and said,

"Fíli, it has been nearly four years since you were lost to us. It is presently 2945 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, and the date is October 7th."

He could not look away. Try as he might he could not look away—and it was not for the inability to do so, for the tingling he'd felt in his hand had traveled up his arm and he could now feel it in his neck and chest. There was truth in Tauriel's eyes, a very frightening truth.

His fingers involuntarily flexed around hers as he asked, "How? How is it possible we have lost nearly four years? I feel as though the battle just happened, so fresh is it in my mind!"

He had died…or he thought he had. Though he felt no pain, he could _remember_ Azog piercing him from behind with the pike on his arm. If it had not happened, why did he remember it?

"We were kind o' hopin' you might tell us that, lad," Dwalin said. "Thorin and Kíli have yet to awaken."

Fíli knew the answer to that, at least. He closed his eyes and felt his grip on Tauriel's hand tighten a fraction. "I died first," he murmured. "Don't know in what order the others fell, but I know I was first. I… I remember the battle. I remember _how_ I died. But I don't remember anything else. Oh Mahal, this cannot be happening. Why did this happen?!"

Silence fell, as no one had an answer to that question. The spell was broken by Kíli gasping for breath as though he were a drowning dwarf fighting to stay above water.

"It's all right, Kíli. Shh, it's all right," said yet another voice, and Fíli managed obedience from his head at last, turning his neck slowly to the right to see a young girl—one of Bard's daughters, he was certain—standing at his brother's bedside. She held his hand and stroked his brow as Kíli struggled to control his breathing.

"Speak to him, laddie," Dáin suggested. "Might help calm your _naddith_ if he hears your voice."

Fíli swallowed. "Kee? It'll be all right, brother. I'm here. Thorin and Dwalin and Dáin are here."

It was a few moments before Kíli's breathing evened out and he managed to say "Where?"

"We're in Dale, Kíli. And… we died. I don't know what happened to you, though. I'm sorry."

Kíli coughed. "You…fell. Had to…avenge…"

"O' course ye did, lad," Dáin told him, walking around to Kíli. "Ye did what any brother would do when his kin has fallen."

"What…happened?"

Fíli's chest tightened to hear the confusion in his brother's voice, though he understood it completely. He'd felt the same—still did, in fact.

Dáin explained to Kíli what little they knew. Which was nothing, really, beyond that the two of them—and their uncle—had all been killed in the battle, rightfully buried in the Tomb of Kings deep beneath Erebor, and then somehow were returned to life nearly four years later.

"Fee, you're…you're all right?" Kíli asked when he'd finished.

"As can be expected," Fíli replied. "Can't rightly move much, but the feeling's coming back slowly."

"That is good to hear," said the blonde female.

Fíli looked to her. "I would have your name, miss, that I may thank you properly for your care of me."

She smiled. "I am Laivindil, a daughter of Elves born of the Dúnedain, and I am First Healer in Dale. It is my duty and my pleasure to serve you, Master Fíli."

Curiosity bloomed amidst his confusion—a Dúnadan child raised by elves? The poor thing. To be raised by those stuffy, snobbish creatures… He wondered what had happened to her natural parents.

"Tauriel. Did she live?" Kíli asked then.

Fíli turned his eyes to Tauriel in time to see her swallow heavily, before she released his hand and moved across the room to Kíli's bedside, standing next to Bard's daughter.

"I am here, Kíli," she said softly.

"Thank Mahal. You're all right?"

A tentative smile formed on her lips. "Very much so."

"I'm glad to hear it. Thought…thought Bolg might've got you after me."

Tauriel shook her head. "No he did not, though it was not for lack of trying. Thankfully his attention was drawn from me by Legolas, who eventually put an end to him."

"Wonderful," Kíli said sourly. "Now I've got to thank him."

Tauriel chuckled. "He would say it is unnecessary."

"Do you still have it? The stone I gave you?"

She bit her lip, and a tear escaped her eye as she shook her head. "No. I returned it to you."

No more needed to be said of that; Fíli could see in Tauriel's expression that it hurt her to think of it. Could she possibly have returned his brother's affections?

At one time, maybe. She'd clearly moved on if he understood correctly that she'd had a child with Bard.

There was a knock at the door then, and another blonde female—this one clearly an elf, pointy ears prominent as her hair was pulled back—poked her head in.

"Forgive me, Your Majesties. Word has come from Carr that Lucanío is asking for you," she said.

"I should go to him," Tauriel said, even as Fíli's eyes widened.

 _Your Majesties?_ he wondered silently.

"Who's Lucanío?"

All eyes turned to Kíli. Tauriel bit her lip again, and more tears fell as she said, "He is my son, Kíli. Bard is his father. We married a year after—"

A sob escaped her and she pushed past Dáin and Dwalin to flee from the room.

Bard sighed. "Tilda, dearest, will you see to Tauriel? I think it wise that I remain for a time."

Fíli looked to the girl as she nodded. "Yes, Da," she replied, and after casting a worried glance at Kíli, she hurried after her stepmother.

"Bard, may I have a word?" Kíli asked.

Knowing his brother as he did, Fíli was not remiss to the undercurrent of pain and anger in his tone, though he had spoken evenly. Bard walked across the room and around to the side of the bed where Tauriel and Tilda had stood.

"Yes, Master Dwarf?" Bard asked.

A tense moment passed before Kíli said, "Do you love her?"

Bard nodded. "Aye, very much so. Tauriel and our son are my life."

"The elf who came to the door said 'Your Majesties'. Have your people made you king or something?"

"Yes. It was their choice, not mine, to put a crown on my head," Bard replied.

"So Tauriel is Queen? Or is she not because she's an elf?"

Bard scoffed lightly. "My people have accepted Tauriel as their queen. Had they wished her not to have the title, I would have refused mine. I assure you, Kíli, she is much loved here, by none more than me."

"Save perhaps your son."

A smile tugged at Bard's lips. "Well, yes. I suppose he might just love her more."

Kíli cleared his throat. "Well… I am glad she was well looked after, and that you cared for her when I could not."

 _My poor_ naddith, Fíli thought as he listened to Kíli's words. _How I wish I could have spared you the pain_.

A moment later, Thorin at last awoke, drawing a sharp breath that was much more controlled than either his or Kíli's had been. Dáin, standing between Thorin's bed and Kíli's, turned around immediately.

"Cousin, its Dáin. Yer all right now, lad. Just relax and breathe normally, if ye can."

Like himself and his brother, Fíli's uncle struggled for a moment to draw air normally.

When at last Thorin's chest rose and fell steadily, he spoke. "Fíli and Kíli?"

"We're both here, Uncle," Fíli answered. "We're fine."

"My current lack of mobility says otherwise, Fee."

Kíli's tone was biting, but Fíli knew he could not take it personally—his brother was just upset about Tauriel.

"It'll get better," he told him encouragingly. "I can already move my fingers and toes."

"I dislike not being able to move," said Thorin.

"Thorin," Dwalin began as he stepped between his and Fíli's bed.

Thorin snorted. "Why am I not surprised to see your ugly face?"

Dwalin grunted. "Yer lucky I don't hit invalids, you _karh_ ," he said. His tone was gruff as always, but Fíli could hear the amusement behind his words. He smiled to once again hear his uncle and distant cousin teasing each other as they once did.

The warrior cleared his throat. "Listen, Thorin… Fíli and Kíli have had no luck with recollection, so we're all wondering—do ye have any idea how you got here, when the three of you are supposed to be dead near four years now?"

Thorin sighed, his eyes falling closed as he said, "I remember everything."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _razâd_ \- blazes

 _naddith_ \- brother (that is young/fresh/new; "little brother")

 _karh_ \- female genital organ (and yes, that is the literal translation; I'm sure you can figure out the Westron/English equivalent)


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews - Nenithiel, RuinofDarkness, Eryn, and IsabelleBrown. Thanks also to new follower Rilawa!**

 **Ruin and Eryn - I think at this point everyone's feeling a little bad for Kíli.**

* * *

 **7\. Unpleasant Tidings**

* * *

When Thorin opened his eyes, he was not expecting to be in the same room he was supposed to have just departed.

What happened? Why didn't he go back?

"Do not be alarmed, my son," came Mahal's voice from behind him.

Standing, Thorin turned to face him. "My Lord, why am I still here? Am I not to go back with my nephews after all?"

"You are not really here," Mahal replied. "This is but a dream. I have come to you in this manner as to impart wisdom that you may, or may not, use as a guide in your new life as you see fit."

Thorin's brows rose in curiosity. "I would be glad to hear your words."

"My tidings are not pleasant, I'm afraid. First, you should know that your sister-sons will wake with no memory of their time in the afterlife. They will remember only their lives to the point of their deaths."

He felt a frown descend. "Why are they to be denied their time in the Great Forge—it is the only memory Kíli will have of his father!"

"He will have that memory if you remind him of it. What Fíli and Kíli recall is up to you."

"I do not grasp your meaning."

Mahal sighed, then stepped closer to him. "Thorin, consider what you all learned upon waking in the Halls of Mandos. Do you wish them to always live their lives looking to the path behind them? Why burden Fíli and Kíli with the knowledge that they are being hunted if you can avoid doing so?"

Thorin's frown became a full-blown scowl. "Do not tell me that wretch Azog has been resurrected again," he spat.

"No, he has not," Mahal returned. "However, Azog and his vile spawn are not the only servants in Sauron's employ."

 _There is a reason your line has been hunted. Sauron fears the blood of Durin as he fears the blood of Elendil among Men. The righteous heirs of noble kings of old have the power to defeat his darkness and drive it from the shores of Arda._

Though he had never heard it before, some deeply buried instinct told Thorin that the words heard only in his mind were spoken by he whom the Valar called the All Father. Though his kin revered Mahal for their creation, even he knew that it was to Ilúvatar that they owed their existence—for had he deemed them unworthy of life, the Maker would have smote the Seven Fathers down long before the ages were being counted.

And as he acknowledged the identity of the speaker, a sudden understanding dawned on him. "You would have me protect them," Thorin said. "To shelter them from the evil that pursues us as I failed to do before."

"It is not failure when one does not know, Thorin," the Maker said. "Do not blame yourself for the deaths of Fíli and Kíli, for they made their choices as the grown dwarrow you helped them to become."

Thorin considered that for a moment. Though Kíli was 77 and Fíli over 80, they were still so very young in his eyes—in the eyes of their people, even. He should not have taken them on the quest. Had they been left behind as Dís had begged him to do, they would not have fallen prey to that reanimated corpse and the worthless pile of bones he'd called a son. That he had relented to their badgering instead of following the wishes of their mother was a guilt that would forever be on his conscience.

Shaking himself, he looked to Mahal. "You said there were others. What does that mean?"

"It means that should Sauron learn that you and your sister-sons have returned, he will redouble his efforts to have you destroyed. You will be hunted all your lives," Mahal told him.

At those words, knowing them in his bones to be true, a deep sadness settled into Thorin's heart. "I will not be going back to Erebor."

It was a statement and not a question, to which Mahal nodded sadly. "Though certain to be an annoyance, the secondary lines of Durin are not so much a threat in Sauron's mind as is the first—in the Lonely Mountain you would all be a target for his spies and assassins."

 _Do not grieve the loss of those halls of stone, for a new destiny awaits you_.

Thorin snorted. "The loss of my kingship was great enough a sacrifice to make—now I am to be denied the right I gave my very life for? More than a hundred and seventy years I devoted to preserving my people that we would one day reclaim Erebor, that I would live once more in the halls of my ancestors, the place of my birth—and you say I should not grieve the loss of it?"

 _It is a pittance compared to what lies ahead for you now_.

Thorin's tone was sardonic as he asked, "And what, pray tell, is that?"

 _The deepest and most desperate desires of your heart, my son_.

"Gods and wizards," Thorin muttered, annoyed by the evasion. "Do none of you speak plainly? I have long been weary of riddles."

Mahal surprised him by laughing. "Just wait and see, Thorin Oakenshield. You will not be so vexed when at last you understand the riddles."

Thorin took a deep breath so as to settle his nerves, lest he lash out in anger at the Maker or the One. "Is there anything else? Any other bits of so-called wisdom I ought know before I rejoin my sister-sons in our second exile?"

"Only another riddle, I'm afraid: Look for your destiny where the peaks are always white. Go now, and _thrive_ my son."

Before he could even part his lips to speak, Thorin found himself awash in a brilliant white light, and then his eyes snapped open as he gasped for breath.

"Cousin, its Dáin. Yer all right now, lad. Just relax and breathe normally, if ye can."

For a few moments Thorin strained to breathe steadily. When at last he felt he could speak, his first words were to ask after his nephews. "Fíli and Kíli?"

"We're both here, Uncle," Fíli answered. "We're fine."

"My current lack of mobility says otherwise, Fee," Kíli retorted, his voice full of bitterness that seemed to Thorin to have a deeper meaning. He filed the curiosity away for later contemplation as he tried to move…and found he could not.

"It'll get better," Fíli was saying. "I can already move my fingers and toes."

Thorin tried again to lift his head, barely resisting a growl of frustration at his failure. "I dislike not being able to move," he said, wondering why Mahal hadn't warned him about this.

"Thorin," came Dwalin's voice before he stepped into his line of sight.

He snorted. "Why am I not surprised to see your ugly face?"

Dwalin grunted. "Yer lucky I don't hit invalids, you _karh_."

Though the insult was crass, Thorin could not help but smile, reminded as he was of old times. _Ah_ , he thought, _at least I can get my face to obey me_.

His friend cleared his throat. "Listen, Thorin… Fíli and Kíli have had no luck with recollection, so we're all wondering—do ye have any idea how you got here, when the three of you are supposed to be dead near four years now?"

Thorin sighed. _Four sodding years?!_ "I remember everything."

"Really?" Fíli asked, his voice hopeful. "To tell you the truth, it's very disorienting to remember what happened to me and _know_ I shouldn't be here, alive and breathing."

"Where is 'here', precisely? I do not recognize these walls."

"You are in the Healer's Hall of Dale, in the realm of His Majesty King Bard," said a male voice he also did not recognize.

His mind reeled. Bard was a king? The concept rankled—not because Bard did not deserve the honor, for he was certainly not one to judge another's worthiness to be king when his own reign had been brief and he under the spell of madness through most of it. It was the injustice of a no-name bargeman becoming royalty when he was to be denied his own crown.

"So… A king, are you now?" Thorin asked aloud, certain that Bard must be in the room.

Bard snorted. "Everyone seems so surprised I have taken up the post of my ancestor," he said. "Truthfully I'd rather have lived up to your expectations and passed on the job, but apparently there were no other viable candidates. Thus, a king am I."

A tingling sensation that had started in his hands now moved up his arms and into his neck; Thorin tried once more to move his head and found he could at last turn it, albeit slowly. Looking to his right, he saw a male elf, Dáin standing between his bed and another, Kíli lying on the other bed staring at the ceiling, and Bard—dressed in finer cloth than he'd seen on him when last they met—leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

Thorin found himself compelled to ask, "Why would you not want to be king if your people wished it of you?"

"Such is easy for you to say, Thorin. You were born into royalty while I was born into poverty," Bard replied. "All I ever wanted of my life was the love of a good woman, the obedience of my children, food to fill our bellies, and clothing to put on our backs."

"Well, you certainly got the first of that. Twice over now," muttered Kíli.

Thorin watched Bard frown as his own brows drew together. "What is that supposed to mean, Kíli?" he asked.

His nephew sighed. "It's nothing, _Irak'adad_. Forget I said anything."

Now he knew something was wrong—Kíli rarely used the Khuzdul word for 'uncle' when speaking the Common Tongue unless he was upset, annoyed, or angry. Based on his nephew's attitude and the stiff posture of their host, Thorin suspected it had to do with the elf Kíli had been smitten with.

He deemed it wise to keep his opinion to himself that Kíli was better off—no need to anger either his nephew or the man who had apparently taken them into refuge.

"How did we get here?" he asked then.

"Well, that depends on yer meaning, Thorin," Dáin said. "If ye mean how'd ye get to Dale, that would be the doing of Bard and Tauriel. If ye mean how came ye to Middle-earth again…"

"We're still waitin' on you for the answer to that one," Dwalin broke in. "You said you remembered."

Thorin looked to him. He'd been avoiding the question, trying to think of a way to explain it without triggering Fíli and Kíli's memories—at least until he had decided just how much detail they should know. A part of him desired to reveal everything; they were grown dwarrow and deserved the chance to make their own choices. He acknowledged that as hypocritical thinking, when he'd not even wanted to accept that they were adults and take them on the quest.

The Azog matter was different. This was about their _lives_ , the lives they'd not have lost had he just left them at home. Though a part of him reasoned he should let them make up their own minds about the danger they faced, the guilt he felt for leading them into their doom was gnawing at his gut and igniting the fires of his protective instincts.

He would see to it that this time, Fíli and Kíli lived.

With another sigh, Thorin said, "We were sent back by Ilúvatar at the request of Mahal. To what purpose I do not know, as it was not made clear."

"Incredible," said the male elf. "Aulë must have been quite despondent to have begged for your return. You and your nephews are akin to Lúthien."

"What do you mean, Gildan?" Bard asked.

Gildan. So that was his name. Now Thorin only needed introduced to the blonde female standing next to Fíli—he had never been comfortable not knowing the names of everyone in the same room as he.

Gildan turned his gaze to Bard. "Lúthien was an Elven-Maia princess, an ancestor of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. She'd fallen in love with a mortal man named Beren, who by her father was given a seemingly impossible task as bride price, for Thingol did not wish his only daughter to wed a mortal. Beren perished in the completing of the task, and in her grief Lúthien lay beside him and also died.

"In the Halls of Waiting, Lúthien sang to Mandos of her grief, and for the first time in history, the Lord of the Dead was moved to pity. Having no authority to grant Beren new life, he sought the advice of Manwë, who in turn looked to Ilúvatar for counsel. Two choices were then placed before the princess—"

"To stay in peace and plenty, or to return to Middle-earth."

Thorin felt all eyes turn to him. Surprise was in the elf's voice as he said, "Yes, that is correct, Master Dwarf. However, if she chose a second life with Beren, she would have to give up her immortality and become mortal as he was. So great was her love for him that she chose to return despite the sacrifice of the Light of the Eldar."

Gildan stepped closer to his bed, ignoring the frowns now worn by Dáin and Dwalin. "How do you know of the Choice of Lúthien?"

"It is the choice we were given," Thorin replied simply. He looked to Fíli on his left, feeling a tightness in his chest on seeing him alive, and added, "In the Great Forge we stood, rejoined with those who passed before us. Remember your father, my sister-son."

A light seemed to go on in Fíli's eyes, and he smiled as they filled with wetness. "I remember _Adad_. Kíli, think brother—you were worried he would be upset you didn't remember him."

Thorin looked to Kíli as he drew a breath, and the faintest of smiles broke the scowl he wore, though his eyes remained on the ceiling above. "I remember now… You said he would understand, because I was so young when he died."

Kíli turned his head at last, and Thorin's heart once more squeezed with emotion to look at him—unmoving beyond that, but like his brother alive and well.

"When he hugged me, I didn't know what to do. And then he said to me 'You look so much like your beautiful mother.' It made me think of how much I would miss her, and how much it hurt that I hadn't kept my promise."

"You don't have to worry about that anymore, _naddith_ ," Fíli said. "We might be four years late, and she'll be rightly pissed no doubt, but we're here. You can keep your promise."

In his peripheral vision, Thorin noted Dáin looking over him at Dwalin, and when he glanced up at his friend, the same dark expression was on his countenance.

An unsettling feeling took root in his stomach. "What is it?" he asked.

Dwalin coughed a little too loud. Dáin slapped his hand down on his leg (which he felt, thank Mahal) as he said, "Another time, Thorin. The three of ye may have been blessed by Mahal, but ye clearly need to rest. We'll keep to ourselves yer here until yer ready to go public."

The two turned as one and started for the door. The blonde female at Fíli's side made the feeling in Thorin's gut grow more sour when her expression became stricken.

"Are you really not going to tell them?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"Laivindil," said Bard, his tone one of warning. "It is not our place."

She looked to him. "Forgive me, _aran nín_ , but Master Oín has been so vexed by her condition that he's consulted both Gildan and I. I cannot—"

"Enough!" Bard barked, standing off from the wall. "As your King, I forbid you to speak of it. Regrettable as it may be, madam, it is not up to us."

Laivindil bowed her head. "Yes, my Lord."

He knew he had not the strength, but by Mahal he would _not_ be lying on his back when he heard what was apparently dire news. Groaning with the effort, Thorin drew his arms back and fought to raise himself up. Gildan moved to assist him, and though he detested the fact that he needed the help, he did not shrug him off when the elf pushed him into a sitting position, one hand remaining on his shoulder to sustain it.

"I may not be your king any longer, Dáin, but once I was for however brief a time," he said. "More than that, we are kin. I demand you respect both and tell me what is going on."

"Yes, please," said Fíli. "Has something happened to my mother?"

Dáin's sigh was one of resignation, and the grief that had taken over Dwalin's expression chilled Thorin to the bone.

"I am so very bloody sorry, lad," the other dwarrow said. "But I am afraid your mother is dying."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Irak'adad_ \- Uncle

 **Sindarin:**

 _aran nín_ \- my King


	8. Chapter 8

**CherryBlossomTime, readergirl4985, Aranel Mereneth, Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, and Eryn - thank you all so much for your reviews. Yes, Dís' took the loss of her children very, very hard.**

 **Thanks also to the most recent favoriters/followers!**

* * *

 **8\. Plans of Action**

* * *

Dwalin was a dwarf accustomed to many things, most of which he could handle.

Grief was one he'd never learned to get a grip on.

Thorin's expression turned to stone, though pain flickered faintly through his crystal blue eyes. That Dwalin had expected of him—Thorin had long ago learned to lock away his emotions, keeping them hidden from those around him simply because others' needs had always been placed before his own. He would hurt, certainly, but he would do so in private. It was a trait they had in common.

Dís' boys were another story. Their shock and heartache were on display for all to see, especially Kíli's. For a gruff warrior who prided himself on his fierce reputation, Dwalin was not ashamed to admit their anguish was heartbreaking.

"What?!" Kíli all but roared as he struggled to sit up. Bard moved to help him but Kíli shrugged him off. "What the _hell_ do you mean, she's dying?!"

"Your _amad_ did not take the news of your deaths well, lad," Dwalin said slowly. "Her depression was such that she stopped taking care of herself. She would not eat or even bathe unless forced, and refused to leave her chambers."

"And that was after we forced her out o' the tomb," Dáin said, his voice thick. "She threw herself across Fíli's crypt and would not climb down. Nori had to drag her off, and she went kickin' and screamin' like a banshee."

Dwalin's chest became painfully tight as he watched silent tears slip down the cheeks of Dís' sons. But he had to go on, to tell them the rest.

"Her health quickly took a decline, and it was suggested we remove her from Erebor and send her back to the Blue Mountains," he said slowly. "But by then she'd become too weak for travel."

"Master Óin asked for our help and we have tried many remedies in an attempt to restore her health," Laivindil said softly, sniffling as she spoke.

"But I am afraid our efforts have been for naught," spoke up the healer's Elvish husband. "The Lady Dís' grief has consumed her."

"How long does she have?" Thorin asked.

"When last Óin spoke to me of it, he said a few weeks at best," Dáin replied.

"And that was a month ago," Dwalin added. "I saw her just last night and… I do not imagine it will be long now before Mahal gathers her to him."

He turned when he saw Fíli attempting to sit up and reached out a hand to help the lad; the boy's grip on his forearm was tight, and lasted longer than perhaps was normal.

"I would like to go see my mother," he said.

"Forgive me, but you cannot even sit up without help at present," Bard said slowly. "How will you get inside the mountain if you can't walk?"

"I will sodding crawl if I must," Kíli barked. "Help me out of this bed, Dáin, for I've no doubt seeing us will do her a world of good."

"Indeed," agreed Fíli. "Perhaps once she sees us, and we explain how we got here—not that I understand it at all—maybe she'll finally start getting well again."

"Perhaps, if she even recognizes you," Gildan said then.

"Elf," Dwalin warned him.

For his part, the elf did not back away from his glare. "Master Dwalin, we have spoken of Lady Dís' physical condition. There is no sense in withholding the rest of it."

Thorin scoffed. "The rest of what? What other malady could my sister possibly suffer from?"

Gildan looked down at him. "Dementia, I am afraid. In the last year her mind has lost its hold on reality. She has moments of lucidity, but they are few and far between."

"I don't care. I want to see her," Kíli declared, then pushed his legs over the side of the bed.

When he attempted to stand they immediately collapsed under him. Gildan turned to help pick him up off the floor.

"Get off me!" Kíli screamed as he slapped his hands way.

"Kíli, do not be a _lalkhûn_ ," Thorin told him. "Let him help you up."

He then sighed, and when Dwalin caught his eye again, the grief flashed by once more. "As soon as we are able to move about on our own, we will come to the mountain," Thorin said.

"Aye. Sounds like a plan, cousin," Dáin said. "What about… well, about you being here?"

"Who do you want us to tell—or not tell?" Dwalin added.

He watched Thorin glance between he and Dáin, then shift his gaze over to Kíli as Gildan finally was able to get him up on his bed. His eyes turned to Fíli before once more settling on him.

"Say nothing to anyone," he said. "Until we are recovered from the process of rebirth and are able to move about under our own power, and my sister has been seen to, our presence ought remain hidden."

Dwalin looked over to Dáin, who nodded his agreement. "But what about the others?"

"What others?"

"I think he means Bard and his people," Dwalin said, flicking his eyes across the room.

Bard frowned. "You needn't concern yourselves," he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "None who have actually seen their faces will speak of them."

"What about the boy?" asked Fíli. "Didn't Tauriel say we were discovered by a child? How old is he? Can he be convinced to keep his mouth shut?"

The frown darkened to a scowl. "I'll forgive that surely unintentional slight as you are newly returned and know nothing of my son," he said slowly. "But I will have you know that despite his youth he listens rather well. If Tauriel and I request it of him—and I already know she has—Lucanío will keep what he has seen to himself."

"It's settled then," Thorin said. "Fíli, Kíli, and I will remain here until we have regained our strength. If Dís' condition should change, for better or worse, you will notify us immediately."

Dwalin felt the corner of his mouth twitch. There was a little of the old Thorin he knew so well—giving orders and expecting them to be followed.

"Aye, cousin," said Dáin. "That we'll do."

When they were both out in the hall, Dwalin felt the shock suddenly wash over him and he put a hand to the wall to steady himself. Thorin was someone he had looked up to, respected, admired…and at times, even feared. He had considered him more of an older brother than a distant cousin, and when he and those boys had died, he'd been devastated. It had taken months just for him to stop expecting to see one of the three around every corner.

To see them _alive_ again…

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he turned his head to look at Dáin. "I know exactly how you feel," the older dwarf said.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

Dáin drew a deep breath. "Well, for starters, I say we go home. We check on Dís, and then I'm going to start what preparations I can."

Dwalin's brow drew together. "Preparations for what?"

"Why, for the return of the king, of course."

 **-...-**

The night before, Laivindil had brought them dinner, though Kíli had refused to eat and Fíli had only been able to eat half of his. Thorin ate well, but it took him longer than usual. Breakfast this morning had been brought in by Gildan. Kíli had refused to eat then as well.

Now Fíli watched as Tilda slipped through the door to their room pushing the familiar serving cart with their lunch. He found himself studying her, analyzing the differences between the young woman before him and the little girl he remembered.

"How old are you now?" he asked suddenly.

Surprise lit her face. "Well, I was eleven when we met, and it's been four years," she answered. "You tell me."

In spite of his worry over Kíli and their mother, Fíli found himself grinning. "Fifteen then," he said. "Still a wee thing, compared to us."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a child, if that's what you mean."

"No, you're a princess now. That makes you _so_ grown up."

Tilda placed her hands on her hips. "I'll have you know, Fíli, that in some places, daughters of Men my age are getting married."

"Fifteen is too young in any race for marriage," Thorin broke in. "Your father would be wise to bar you from the institution until you are much older."

"Sigrid was eighteen, as was Da and our mother when they married."

Surprise zinged through Fíli—he'd secretly thought that Sigrid was rather lovely when they'd met. Maybe if his old life hadn't been stolen from him… With a slight shake of his head, he asked, "Your sister's married?"

"Aye, and a mam to boot now—she and Téomas had a son last autumn. His name is Brannon," Tilda replied with a smile.

"Téomas?" Fíli queried as she brought him a tray. "Doesn't sound Dalish."

"Because it's not. He's from Rohan."

Tilda returned to the cart and retrieved another tray, carrying it to Thorin. His uncle nodded his thanks, earning another smile from the girl. She then moved back to the cart for the last tray but hesitated, looking over at Kíli. His brother was lying on his side facing the wall while he and Thorin were sitting up in their beds.

Catching sight of her worried expression, Fíli looked over. "Oi, Kíli. Get up, _naddith_. Tilda's brought lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"Kíli, sit up and eat," Thorin ordered him.

"Yeah, Kee. How do you expect to get strong enough to go and see _Amad_ if you don't eat something?" Fíli added.

"I could always come and feed it to you if you're feeling too weak to hold a spoon, Kíli," suggested Tilda in a teasing voice.

Fíli couldn't help but snicker at the mental image of his brother being fed like a sick child.

"Oh, shut it, Fee," Kíli said bitingly as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Bring me the sodding tray, I can feed myself."

Tilda blinked at his sharp tone, but shook her head and squared her shoulders. She picked up the last tray from the cart and carried it over, and Fíli half expected her to just drop it in his brother's lap. She didn't do that.

What she _did_ do shocked him. After carefully placing the tray across Kíli's legs, she grabbed his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. "While you are eating, Master Dwarf, you might do yourself a service and try to recall the lessons in manners I'm certain your mam taught you. I've met Dís, and I've no doubt she would be ashamed at your behavior."

Tilda let him go and turned to walk away. Kíli reached out and snagged her hand. "You've seen my mother?" he asked, his voice almost desperate.

Fíli understood the feeling all too well.

Their visitor looked back at him, her expression softer than it had been moments before. "Yes, I've been with Laivindil and Gildan to see her. 'Princess' is hardly more than a fancy title for Sigrid and I, you see. Tauriel taught us basic medicine after the battle, and I realized I wanted to know more. I've been training under Laivindil and Gildan since they came to us a year after because I wanted to be of greater service to my people. I went with them when Óin asked them to come and have a look at your mam."

"How was she?" Fíli asked.

In her eyes when she looked over her shoulder at him, he could see her sadness, and his chest squeezed tight. "I'm afraid she truly is not well. I don't know what all Dáin and Dwalin might have told you, but losing you boys robbed her of her desire to live. Frankly I'm surprised she's been with us as long as she has."

A tense silence fell, broken by Thorin when he said, "Thank you for your honesty, Princess."

Tilda nodded. Fíli watched her give Kíli's hand a squeeze before she moved away from him a second time. She then took hold of the cart and left the room.

 **-...-**

Later that evening, Dáin and Dwalin came again to the Healer's Hall.

"How are you lads holding up?" Dáin asked.

"Though it pains me to admit it, we are still weak," Thorin replied. "But we are able to move under our own power if we do so with care."

Dwalin nodded. "Think you're up for a trip to the mountain, then?"

"There's no way they can walk that far," spoke up Bard, who'd accompanied the two.

"We can make it," said Kíli stubbornly.

"Your determination to see your mother is commendable, Master Kíli, but given your present condition, I daresay you'd all collapse from exhaustion before you reach the city gate."

"Bard is right," Thorin agreed, though Fíli could see he disliked having to do so. No doubt he was as annoyed at his own weakness as he and his brother were. "We must at least have some form of transport to the mountain. Once inside Erebor, I think we may be able to manage a walk to the… Where is she, by the way? Does Óin have her in the infirmary?"

Dáin shook his head. "Nay. She is in her own rooms in the royal suites, as is befitting a princess," he replied. "A couple nurses tend to her needs through the day, and Óin looks in on her every morning and evening."

" _Iklifumun_ ," Thorin muttered. "The royal apartments are deep within the mountain. We will need assistance to get that far."

"We've no problem lending an arm for you to lean on, cousin," Dáin said. "Although there are but two of us who know you're even here, which begs the question… When are you going to come forward?"

"You know very well the entire Company would come to your aid," added Dwalin. "I've no doubt they'd carry you on litters to get you to Dís."

Fíli watched his uncle and waited. He was surprised when Thorin looked up at Bard and said, "Will you go with us?"

Bard was clearly surprised as well. "If that is your wish, I would be glad to assist you. But pray, why not seek the aid of your kinsmen?"

"No one must know we are here."

Fíli felt himself frown. "Whyever not, Uncle? I get that it's been four years and our people will certainly be shocked, but you said we're back because Mahal himself championed our return."

A muscle in Thorin's jaw clenched. "Fíli, until we are well enough to prove ourselves to be who we claim, it is for the best we remain in the shadows."

"Then how are we to get into the bloody mountain, then?" Kíli asked hotly. "People _will_ see our faces when we walk through the front gate."

"Kíli's right about that, laddie," said Dáin. "How do ye plan on getting' in without bein' seen?"

"I have an idea," said Dwalin with a snap of his fingers. He looked to Dáin. "Don't you remember those blasted Brotherhood ninnies that were here last month?"

Fíli's brow winged up. "Brotherhood? You mean the Brotherhood of Mahal?" he queried.

"I thought they were a myth," added Kíli.

From the stories he'd heard over the years, Fíli recalled the Brotherhood. Allegedly the group had been started with the purest of intentions—preserving dwarf culture and the reverence of Mahal. But over the centuries they'd become zealous and more than a little xenophobic. Interaction with other races was to be restricted to commerce. If a dwarf couldn't find a desirable dwarrow lass to lay with, he should die a virgin—and vice versa. Intermarriage, though rare enough as it was, was heavily frowned upon, and rumor had it that if the Brotherhood found out, they were not above committing harassment and violence against the couple and their children.

 _'Tis a good thing that I never got the chance to know Sigrid as I would have liked_ , Fíli mused. _I'd not have wanted her subjected to that sort of hatred_.

"Right, yes!" Dáin all but bellowed. "Demanding little _faslân_ , that lot. Had to have everything _just so_ in their visitors' rooms and then they left 'em a mess when they'd finally gone. Bombur's staff was furious, and I had to hear it from him for a week!"

"Is there a point to this little tirade of yours?" Thorin asked.

Dwalin turned to him with a grin. "The point, Thorin, is that they left stuff behind—like those ridiculous sackcloth robes they wear. Unless Bombur's burned them, we can get three of 'em from the laundry storage for you and the boys to wear."

"And you're certain concealing your identity is even necessary?" Bard asked then.

Thorin nodded. "It is for the best."

For the best? Fíli didn't really understand why that was, and began to wonder if there was some other reason behind his decision. He made a mental note to ask Thorin about it later, but concern for his mother was greater than his confusion over his uncle's behavior.

Dwalin left within minutes to return to Erebor and find out if the Brotherhood robes were still in the laundry. While he was gone, Bard ordered his healers to fetch their wagon and have it made ready.

"Will our visitors be returning?" Gildan asked.

Bard looked over his shoulder at them as Dáin and Thorin conversed in whispered Khuzdul. "I do not know, given they are now mobile. Just in case, do me a service and go to the manor while we're away. Give Halia instruction to have three of the staterooms prepared. I feel somewhat responsible for them, so I'll take them off yours and Laivindil's hands."

"Certainly, _aran nín_. But what about the queen?"

"What about her?"

Gildan glanced at Kíli, and Fíli tried hard to look as though he weren't listening to their conversation. "Forgive me, sire, but are you certain Tauriel will be comfortable having him in the house?"

No need to ask who he meant, Fíli mused, and found himself eagerly awaiting the answer.

Bard sighed. "Tauriel will understand my reasons from bringing them to our home, not the least of which is that Thorin for some reason seems bent on keeping their return a secret. They're less likely to be seen at the manor. I know she does not wish to cause Kíli anymore pain, but what else can I do?"

So that's why she'd run out the other night. Fíli's respect for the she-elf—beyond the fact that she'd saved Kíli's life numerous times—went up a few notches. He appreciated that she understood her relationship with Bard had wounded his brother and she didn't want to rub it in his face. Clearly Bard did not either, but he was thinking logically. In a public place like the Healer's Hall, even if they were in an out-of-the-way back room, there was still a chance that someone who shouldn't might blunder in.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _lalkhûn_ – fool (masculine singular)

 _iklifumun_ – damn

 _faslân_ – male genital organ (plural)


	9. Chapter 9

**Robinbird79, Nenithiel, tigergirl1723, CherryBlossomTime, Sparks67, Readergirl4985, and RuinofDarkness... you all rock! Thanks so much for the reviews. Thanks to the most recent clickers of the favorite/follow buttons!**

* * *

 **9\. White Shores are Calling**

"You and I will meet again." ~ Annie Lennox, _Into the West_

* * *

While they waited for Dwalin to return, Thorin sat with Dáin and spoke to him about Erebor.

He asked him about the state of things such as the repairs to the living and work spaces and how the people were getting on. He needed the other dwarrow to talk not only because he truly wanted to know these things—just because he was being forced to give up his kingdom didn't mean he didn't care about it—but also to keep him from asking the obvious question. The one he'd asked twice already.

Thorin had given the matter a lot of thought, having lain awake late into the night and nothing else to do all day except slowly, painstakingly rebuild his strength enough to walk. If he was not to be king in Erebor, and neither Fíli nor Kíli were taking his place…then there was no reason for them to stay. If Mahal's words about spies in the mountain were to be believed—though he was loath to accept his own people could be working for the Dark Lord—it was best he take his nephews away from here.

 _We set out to reclaim the mountain, and it has been reclaimed_ , he mused. _But not for us_.

He also made inquiries regarding Erebor's relationship with Dale, and was not altogether surprised to learn that Dáin and Bard had formed an alliance. "I'd even say the two o' us are friends, and so would he, if'n ye can believe that," his cousin had said, adding that "the poor bastard" was the intermediary when it came to relations with Mirkwood. Dáin had agreed with Bard's long ago made point that with dwarves living in the Lonely Mountain again, it was best they maintain a peaceful relationship with the elves. Thorin had scoffed at this, sobering only when Dáin had reminded him how quickly Thranduil's army had been at his doorstep once the dragon was dead.

He then recalled the discussion he had taken part in back in the Halls of Waiting, during which even he had agreed that peace with his people's long-time nemeses was achievable. Thorin had no idea, really, what had prompted him to say that. Even standing in the midst of so many elves who had given their lives in defense of dwarf lands, he'd felt resentment of the immortal know-it-alls simmering just below the surface. He resented Tauriel for whatever slight she'd done to Kíli to put him in such a foul mood.

Speaking of which…

"Dáin, what is going on with that she-elf who saved Kíli's life in Lake-town?" he asked, taking care to keep his voice low. "He's been acting out of sorts the whole night and day, and I can only assume it has to do with her."

Dáin blinked in surprise. "Ye mean the boys haven't said?" he asked.

Thorin shook his head. "I did not ask for risk of antagonizing Kíli further."

His cousin cast a glance over his shoulder to where Bard stood talking with the Elven healer. "She and Bard are married, Thorin," Dáin said. "Be three years now, come Durin's Day. According to them, 'twas their wee one what found you lot up on Ravenhill where Kíli died trying to save her life."

He frowned. "How old is the child?"

"Lucanío turned two years this spring. Smart as a whip, that one, I have to give him that."

So the elf was married to another, a man with whom she shared a child. No wonder Kíli's temper was worn so thin—the female he'd let himself become infatuated with had given herself to someone else. Yet more proof that his nephew's feelings were misplaced, because if the child had been born in the spring two years ago, then it was less than a year after their deaths that he'd been conceived.

She couldn't even bother herself to mourn him at minimum a full year, as was proper—and that was _if_ she'd even cared for Kíli.

 _That is not fair Thorin. You know nothing of what Tauriel endured upon Kíli's death_ , he heard Mahal say in his mind—though he wasn't entirely sure whether he'd actually heard it or just imagined it. And what did it matter what she had endured? Clearly it was nothing too traumatic if she'd taken up with Bard and got herself a crown.

 _It matters because there are two sides to every story. Do not be so quick to condemn if you are not willing to listen to hers_.

Thorin ignored the voice and turned his attention back to Dáin, who had used his silence as an opening to ask, "So what's yer plan?"

He blinked. "My plan for what?"

Dáin punched him lightly in the shoulder—light for him, at any rate. "For comin' back, o' course. We've got to work this just right, though yer bein' blessed by Mahal himself will go over huge—"

Thorin held his hand up. "Dáin, stop. Now is hardly the time for that discussion. My first and only priority at this point is seeing to the health of my sister."

His cousin looked ready to argue, but was put off by a knock at the door. Bard went to it and opened it a crack, then fully once he saw who was on the other side.

Dwalin had returned, and from a knapsack he pulled three rough-hewn robes that looked like they were made from the sacks that potatoes were often sold in—and for all he knew, that's exactly what they were made of. They made quick work of putting them on over their clothes, and seeing the disgusted looks on his nephews' faces, Thorin understood their irritation. In truth he disliked hiding as much as they, but the Maker's warning was still in his head.

 _It's for their own good_ , he told himself for perhaps the hundredth time.

In minutes they were heading out through the Healer's Hall, which Thorin noticed was really a very large house that had perhaps at one time been some Dalish lord's home. He briefly considered taking a tour of the city to see if it had been restored to anything like the Dale he remembered, though he had not been here since before Smaug had ruined the place.

Outside a covered wagon waited, beside which stood two ponies and a man in armor. He bowed his head at Bard's appearance before climbing up into the wagon's seat. Bard stood watch as Dáin and Dwalin helped first his nephews and then Thorin himself into the back of the wagon. He listened to his kinsmen mounting the ponies and then Bard acknowledging that they would take the lead, and then the wagon began to move.

The ride to Erebor was nearly twenty minutes, and at the moment Thorin sensed they were near to the bridge, Kíli broke the tense silence.

" _I'm frightened_ , _brother_ ," he said to Fíli in Khuzdul. " _So terribly frightened that we'll be too late_. _I made a promise and I didn't keep it, and she's suffered for it all this time_."

" _Do not blame yourself_ ," Thorin told him. " _If any of us should feel guilty, it is I_."

He caught them both staring at him in the dim evening light. "Why should you feel guilty, Uncle?" Fíli asked as they crossed the bridge at last, and a voice from somewhere ahead cried out "Make way for the king!"

The wagon soon stopped in what he knew was a staging area. Thorin tried not to think too much on the fact that the last time he'd been here, the gate had been blocked with rubble he'd ordered his Company to pile up. _Like a robber in his hold_ , Bard had said.

He shook his head to dispel the unsettling memory as the three of them prepared to climb out. He hadn't been himself then. Of course, he was hardly himself now, sneaking into the place of his birth in the garb of a quasi-religious order few self-respecting dwarrow even acknowledged.

Reminding Fíli and Kíli to keep their hoods up and over their faces, he accepted Dwalin's assistance in climbing down from the wagon. As his friend turned back to help Fíli, Thorin heard one of the nearby guards muttering, " _Oh, not them again. Haven't our king and lord commander got anything better to do than play host to those Brotherhood fools?_ "

Dwalin overheard and turned to the dwarrow. " _Mind your tongue, Kurn. 'Tis your king you speak of_."

The dwarf he'd addressed muttered an apology and bowed his head. Dáin also sent a stern glare to him and his partner, before turning and leading the way into the mountain. The going was a slow and steady pace, for though he and his nephews could walk, they were not yet up to their old strength. Thorin silently cursed whatever reasoning had delivered them to their new lives in this condition, for it made not a single bit of sense that they were so dependent on others.

 _At this rate, Dís will be gone to Mahal's embrace before we even reach the royal suites_ , he mused darkly.

By the time they reached the wing where the royal family's quarters were located, he was leaning heavily on Dáin. Durin's beard, he'd known he was weak but he'd not expected to be this exhausted! When would he and the boys regain the strength they would need for travel?

Thorin shook himself mentally as they came face-to-face with two guards at the top of a short set of stairs. Upon seeing Dáin, the two armor-clad dwarves immediately bowed their heads and turned to the side so the group could pass. He was panting for breath when they at last stopped before a wide door.

"Take yer time t' catch yer breath, lads," Dáin said.

A quick glance at Kíli at Dwalin's side and Fíli at Bard's showed they were no better off. Thorin gave them nods of encouragement as he evened out his breathing, then looked to Dáin with another. Dáin returned the gesture before reaching forward to open the door.

A dwarrow lass just starting to gray was startled upon their entrance to a well-appointed sitting room, but recovered quickly and curtsied before them.

"Greetings, my King," she said.

"And to you, my dear," Dáin replied. "These folk have requested to pay their respects to Princess Dís. How does she fare this evenin'?"

The crestfallen expression on the nurse's face, coupled with the tears pooling in her eyes, made Thorin's heart stop in fear for half a beat. _Mahal, please do not let us be too late_ , he prayed.

"I… I am afraid for her, my King. When Master Óin came, he… he said she would not be long with us now."

Kíli gasped audibly and her eyes flicked to him before returning to her king. "Thank you, Korra," Dáin told her. "Why don't you go and get some fresh air? It'll do you a world of good. Lord Commander Dwalin and I will remain with our guests."

"If… if you are certain, sire."

Dáin looked at him and Thorin tried his best to communicate with his eyes that he would be fine on his own. His cousin nodded a fraction before stepping forward and taking the nurse by the hands. "Lass," he began, "you and Lita have done a marvelous job looking after the princess. Go and take a rest now—you've earned it."

With a heavy sigh and a nod Korra relented, and walked with her head bowed past the group of visitors. Once she had gone, Thorin hurriedly discarded the Brotherhood robe and looked to find his nephews doing the same.

"Come with me, lads," Dáin said softly, then led the way over to the bedchamber door.

Thorin followed in silence. Where before when Korra had spoken his heart had paused, it now sped up to a maddening pace. He had not seen his sister in months—at least, from his perspective. For Dís it had been nearly five years since last she had laid eyes on him or her children, and the last four of those she'd thought them all dead. How would she look? Would she be coherent enough to recognize them? For that matter, would the shock of seeing three ghosts be the catalyst that finally sent her on her way?

Mahal, he hoped not. He prayed with all his might that she would get better…or go in peace.

He could not have possibly prepared himself for the sight of her. Dís looked unbelievably tiny in the bed on which she lay, propped up on mounds of pillows and covered by layers of blankets. Her once glossy black hair was dull, her skin a sickly pallor, her eyes and cheeks sunken—it was as though all that was left were her bones.

" _Amad_!" Kíli cried out as he pushed past him and ran as well as he could to her side, followed by his brother. Kíli sat on the edge of the mattress and picked up his mother's hand, holding it to his face.

" _Amad_ , wake up. I beg you, wake up," he said.

" _Amad_ , it's us. Your lads, Fíli and Kíli," Fíli added. "I know we're a mite late coming home, but we got a bit sidetracked. Real sorry about that, we are."

"Uncle is here too, _Amad_. He came back with us," Kíli went on. "I know it may seem very strange and unreal, but we are truly here with you. Won't you please wake up?"

At last Dís stirred, moaning weakly as she turned her head toward him. Her eyes opened slowly and then suddenly widened, as she seemed to recognize who was with her.

" _My little lion and my little raven_ ," she said in Khuzdul. " _You are come back to me at last_."

" _Indeed, Mother_ ," said Fíli, offering a smile. " _We are here_."

The one she gave him in return was thin. " _Mahal told me you would come. In my dreams he told me you would come back to me. I just had to have patience_."

Dís sighed, her eyes falling closed as she said, " _I waited for so long. I did not want you to be dead—I didn't want my babies to be dead!_ " she wailed.

" _Do not cry, Mother. Please do not cry_ ," Kíli said.

Pain lanced through Thorin as he watched the scene before him. This was his fault—his fault that his sister and her sons were suffering. His fault that they were losing their mother, that she was dying of grief. He should have listened to her. He should never have taken them on the quest.

" _Thorin Oakenshield_."

As much command as she could muster was in those two words, and he obediently went to the opposite side of the bed from the boys.

" _Yes, my sister?_ " he said softly as he looked down to her.

For a long moment, Dís only stared back. She seemed to be studying him. Judging him. He knew he deserved whatever judgment she passed.

" _I hate you_ ," she told him, and though he'd half expected to hear them, the words still stung worse than a physical blow. " _I hate you for taking my children away from me. I begged you to leave them behind, and you did not listen. My children died because you did not listen_."

He felt every word as though a stab to his heart, and accepted that he was deserving of her hatred. Thorin fell to his knees as a sob ripped through him. " _I'm sorry, Dís. I'm so very sorry. I wish I could go back and do it over. Were it possible I would do as you asked and deny them a place in the Company. It was my stubbornness that led them to their fate and you to yours. I am so sorry_."

His head fell forward as his shoulders heaved with the force of his guilt and sorrow, though he stilled when a thin, bony hand came to rest atop his hair.

" _I hate you for taking my children away from me, brother_ ," Dís said. " _And I love you for bringing them back to me_."

Slowly Thorin looked up, his eyes meeting a pair of dull blues that had once been as bright as his own. " _I do not deserve your love. It is only by the request of Mahal and the will of the One that your sons are brought back to you_."

" _If not for Mahal's love for his children, you would none of you be here, that is true_ ," Dís replied. " _But I know you, Thorin. You were to my sons as a father, when their own was taken from us. You will be so again when I am gone_ —"

" _No, Mother!_ " cried Kíli. " _We are back now—you don't have to go anywhere_."

" _Little Raven, it is too late for me_ ," she replied. " _My body is too broken and weak to be healed. I wanted to die the moment I heard you were gone, to join you in the Great Forge where surely you stood by your father's side. But our Maker came to me in a dream. He told me you would come back, that I would meet you again in this world before he would take me into his embrace. I just had to have patience_."

Dís sighed, then patted his cheek as she said, " _My son, I see you are troubled_."

" _I made you a promise, Mother. A promise I did not keep. I'm so sorry_ —"

She hushed him by placing a finger over his lips. " _You are here now. You have kept your promise. As have you, Little Lion. Oh, you who look so much like your father. You keep to that promise, do you hear? I mean it, Fíli—look after your brother in the days to come_."

Tears were falling freely into Fíli's mustache and beard as he nodded solemnly. " _Yes, Mother. As before, I give you my word_."

" _Kíli, you come back to me again—but not for many, many years. And Thorin_ ," she said as she turned her head back to him. " _Take care of my babies. No more quests—just take care of them. Love them as you will your own sons, and you will be forgiven_."

Thorin took her hand in his and softly pressed his lips to the back of it. " _You have my solemn vow, Sister, that I will not fail you again_."

" _There's a good lad_ ," Dís told him with a smile, then closed her eyes on a sigh.

All was quiet for a time, save for the weeping of Dís' brother and her sons. Off to the side, Dáin and Dwalin also shed silent tears of heartache, for she was their kin.

The stillness was broken as Dís suddenly gasped. " _Oh, look brother! 'Tis a far green country ahead… I see Mother and Father there, waiting for us. Oh! Mahal be praised—I see my Síli there! I am coming now, my love!_ "

A soft gurgle issued from her throat, and then Dís breathed no more.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks once again to you awesome reviewers - Eryn, Nenithiel, dearreader, Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, Aranel Mereneth, Celebrisilweth, Sophia-RoseDJOlympusTartarus, Guest, and CherryBlossomTime. You make my day. Thanks also to the latest clickers of the favorite and follow buttons!**

 **Guest - Aulë wasn't being cruel by not telling them to wait. At the time Thorin and his nephews were in Valinor, he did not yet know of Dís' condition.**

* * *

 **10\. Sadness and Song**

* * *

Empty.

That was how Kíli felt, knowing and understanding at least some measure of the pain his mother had endured. When she breathed her last his heart shattered, leaving him devoid of emotion. He wished in that moment that he could just lay himself down alongside her and pass back to the Halls of Waiting, for there was nothing left for him here.

No Tauriel and now no mother—and they were surely his only reasons for returning. If he could have neither, what reason was there for him to stay?

A hand came down on his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. Kíli lifted eyes already swollen from crying to look back into those of his brother. He saw in Fíli's countenance the same pain he was feeling and threw himself forcefully into his brother's arms.

"You will bury her in the Tomb of Kings."

Thorin's words were not a question. They were not a request. Though he had no authority at present, he had just issued a command as though he expected no argument.

He didn't get one. After clearing his throat, Dáin replied, "Of course I will. Dís is a Princess of Erebor, a Daughter of Durin, and she will be laid to rest as one."

"Fíli, Kíli, come. We must go so that Óin may be called to begin preparing your mother for burial," Thorin said then, as he made his way toward the door.

"Why must we go, Uncle?" Fíli asked. "What does it matter if our kin know we are here or not?"

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fíli, I am in no mood to argue. Please just do as I say."

Kíli felt his brother tense, but nonetheless Fíli rose, pulling him up along with him. He took but one step before he turned back and leaned over his mother's still form, pressing a kiss to her cheek before touching his brow to hers and whispering to her the same thing he had said on departing for the quest: " _Aimugalikh, Amad_."

Bard had remained in the sitting room, and he stood immediately on seeing them. Their faces must surely have said all he needed to know, for he bowed his head, saying, "I grieve with thee the loss of your kin. I had hoped your return might restore the Lady Dís to health."

"Thank ye for the kind words, _bahûnê_ ," Dáin replied.

"I regret that I must impose on your hospitality once again, Bard," said Thorin. "My nephews and I have need of refuge until my sister's funeral can be arranged."

"You are welcome to remain in Dale as long as needed," Bard replied.

No more was said until after the Brotherhood robes had been donned once again, when Dáin looked to Thorin and asked, "Do ye think you can manage on your own? I do not want to disrespect the dead by leaving her alone. Dwalin can send one of the guards at the end of the hall for Óin and the other for my lady wife."

Even as Thorin nodded, Dwalin said, "If needs be, I can manage him as well as Kíli."

Dáin inclined his head in agreement, then opened the door for them. At the end of the hall, Dwalin spoke to the two guards as instructed; one ran around the corner to another corridor and the other immediately set off in the direction of the infirmary. The group set out again in silence. At the gate, once they were in the back of the wagon Dwalin took his leave, saying that he or Dáin would come to them in a day or so with the details for the service.

Nothing was said on the ride back to Dale. Which was good, because Kíli didn't feel like talking. What was there to say? He could do naught but wonder why they had been returned to this world four years after they'd left it. Why had his poor mother been made to suffer, to wither away in grief waiting for the return of her children? She must have been truly despondent to forsake taking care of herself in spite of Mahal's message that she would see them again.

Perhaps, as the months turned to years and passed her by, she'd simply got tired of waiting.

The same was not true of Tauriel, apparently; she hadn't waited very long at all before moving on. But then he had no idea how she'd really felt about him, did he? Had he only imagined that she'd come in search of him because she cared? Was it not grief for the loss of what could have been he had seen in her eyes as he passed from this world? If she had returned his affections, why had she given herself to another so soon after losing him? Why had she given herself to another at all?

Kíli shook himself mentally. He was going to drive himself mad with these questions. There were too many he needed answers to. Some of them he would likely never know, and others he was too afraid to ask.

He was surprised when they alighted from the wagon at last in front of another, much larger and statelier home than the Healer's Hall. He eyed the four guards posted outside with a growing sense of dread.

"Where are we?" asked Fíli.

"This is the manor of the lord of the city, Master Dwarf," Bard replied. "My home."

Yep, just what he was afraid of. He was going to be spending the night in the same house with Tauriel, who would be sharing her bed with someone other than him. As if this night hadn't already gone to hell.

"What are we doing here?" he demanded.

Bard looked to him as the wagon was driven away. "As you are guests it is hardly appropriate that I foist you off on one of the innkeepers. Here you will be in far more comfort than one of those or at the Healer's Hall."

"We are less likely to be recognized here," said Thorin in a low voice.

"Precisely," Bard replied, then began the trek up the manor stairs.

The four men on the steps were not familiar to Kíli (and he'd seen numerous faces on the shore of the Long Lake, before he and the others had taken off in a boat), which he supposed had played a part in Bard's decision to bring them here. He did not have long to contemplate that thought, as upon stepping through the double doors his breath caught in his lungs. Tauriel came from a hallway into the foyer at the same moment, adorned in a dress of deep gray with a silver belt and trim and lighter gray, flowing sleeves—it was similar in style to the gowns the she-elves in Rivendell had worn.

She looked absolutely stunning.

Though she seemed to have been expecting them, Tauriel started, blinking rapidly as she cleared her throat. "I have dismissed the household staff save for Carr and Ellairë, as they have seen them. Tilda is here also, though her guardian is outside, as is Lucanío of course."

"A wise precaution, though I'm certain Halia and the others did not part without question," Bard observed.

A ghost of a smile appeared. "Certainly not, especially after Gildan had delivered your message to have three rooms prepared," she replied.

"What of your elder son and daughter?" Thorin asked.

Their host regarded him squarely. "Sigrid lives with her husband and child in a home of their own. Bain is presently in Esgaroth. Now, I have some business I must attend to, I'm afraid. Tauriel will show you to your rooms."

"Thank you for your understanding," Thorin said as he turned to walk away.

Turning back to them, Bard said, "I don't, in fact, understand. However, I have discerned that you wish to remain hidden, and so have done my part as neighbor and ally to your kinsman to aid you in that endeavor. Perhaps someday soon you will trust us with your reasons for doing so."

His uncle acknowledged the man's words with a nod. "Perhaps, should doing so become a necessity. I daresay at some point it will, but for now I am grateful for a private place in which I might retire and mourn my sister's passing."

"Dís died?" Tauriel exclaimed softly, a hand going to her heart. "I am so sorry to hear of it. We had hoped your presence might help her."

"Perhaps it would have, my Lady, if Eru had seen fit to return us sooner," said Fíli bitterly. "I, for one, do not see the sense in returning us at all if it was not to save her from her grief."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kíli caught sight of a muscle twitching in Thorin's jaw, and he wondered if that had anything to do with what he remembered that they did not. He would have to ask him what all had transpired during their time in the Great Forge, for all he had been able to recall was meeting his father for the first time since he was three.

With a sigh, he pushed the curiosity over his uncle's behavior aside, for there were matters of greater import to concern himself with. He had just lost his beloved mother, who had meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

Bard left them then and Tauriel gestured for them to follow her. She led them down the corridor from which she had come, pointing out a door that led to a courtyard. "Though it is not very large, you'll be able to walk in the free air unobserved by prying eyes," she told them.

The rooms she directed them to were on the second floor. He imagined that Thorin's and Fíli's rooms matched his own: A sitting area was situated in front of a fireplace, and to the right of that was a door Tauriel said led to a privy that he would share with his brother. There was a small table and a couple of chairs under a window, a writing desk, a wardrobe, and a large bed.

Kíli thanked her absently as he stood before the unlit fireplace and stared into it. She had just opened the door to leave when he heard, "I so wish you remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"The ether."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "The ether? What is that?"

"It is a name my kin gave to the nether-realm, a place between the living world and death," she explained. "I was… Well, I was dying once, and you came to me there. You encouraged me to fight for my life, for that of my son, who at the time was still in my womb. Perhaps it was just a fevered dream. In any case, I am sorry. I beg you to believe I have no desire to cause you pain."

Seeing the troubled expression she wore, Kíli sighed and turned his eyes back to the fireplace. "I know you don't," he relented. "I suppose I can't even blame him, really. You are very beautiful, and fierce, and brave…and he'd have been a fool not to fall for you."

"I was broken, Kíli," Tauriel told him. "I'd have followed you into death had it not been for Bard."

He turned to face her fully then, desperate to know if her words meant what he thought they did. "Did you love me?" he asked.

She nodded as a tear slipped down her cheek. "A part of me loves you still, for it was you who taught me how to love. I had no idea how I would go on without you, and there were times I desired nothing more than to give up this life and allow my spirit to depart this world.

"But there was this man... He gave me a job after the battle. He gave me a purpose. Neither he nor his children would let me sit in misery for too long, and after many weeks I began to feel the weight of my grief grow lighter. Then one day, I realized that my appreciation for their friendship had turned to love. The children I loved as a mother, the man I loved as one who has found her soulmate."

Kíli turned away, unable to bear the light in her eyes as she spoke of the love she held for another. He supposed that she had fallen for someone else meant theirs was a relationship that was doomed from the start. Tauriel was not his One, and he was not hers.

But she had loved him, and he had no doubt that her love had been as real as his. Small comfort, to be sure, but it would help to ease the pain of not having had a chance, even if what they would have had together wouldn't have lasted.

Drawing a breath, he said, "Believe it or not, I am grateful that Bard saved you. For tonight I have seen how grief rends the soul of even the strongest to tatters. I'd not have wished for your spirit to be as torn apart as was my mother's."

"I am truly very sorry for your loss, Kíli. I know what it's like to lose a parent, for as you know I lost both of mine when I was very young. It is a pain I would not wish on anyone."

Kíli looked over his shoulder again. "Thank you for that."

Tauriel nodded, and smiling weakly, stepped quietly out the door.

 **-...-**

About an hour he had sat before the cold hearth, the candles lit by either Tauriel or one of the staff casting shadows across a face cast in stone. Only those with whom he shared the most intimate of bonds would have known that despite the image he currently presented, Thorin was heartbroken.

Dís had once been a beautiful dwarrow lass. A number of males had vied for her attention even before she'd come of age, and none had merited a second look until Síli had come along. He was a stonemason from the Iron Hills who swung a mighty hammer, and the moment she'd set eyes on him, his sister's heart had been lost. Fíli took after him in every respect, and as he had grown, his mother's smile when she looked at him was at times bittersweet.

 _Why?_ he wondered. _Why did we come back only to lose our closest kin? Why must Fíli and Kíli suffer not only the loss of their memories, but the loss of their mother?_ _Why must I take them away from the home we gave our lives for?_

It wasn't right. There was simply no fairness in taking everything away from them that they had come back for.

Some prices were too damn high to be paid. Some sacrifices were not worth making.

 _Dís was ready to go, Thorin_.

He scowled—that blasted voice again. Well, whether it was real or not, this time he would answer. _She was only ready to go because she believed her children to be dead!_ he snarled silently. _Why couldn't you have told her sooner that they would return? Or better yet, why could we not have come back to a time when she could still have been saved?_

 _Yours was not the only destiny altered by the Dark Lord's evil machinations. Resurrecting Azog to eliminate your bloodline caused a ripple effect, the outcome of which not even we could have predicted. When the All Father made it known to me that you would be reborn in this time, I did what I could for your sister. I am sorry it was not enough_.

He could not think what to say to that for a moment, until an idea came to him.

 _Is it possible she could come back to us? Her sons and I were reborn, why not Dís?_

Thorin's query was met with proverbial silence, and so he stewed in anger and misery.

A sharp cry broke the stillness. Out in the hall he heard Tilda's voice as she called out.

" _Luc! Lucanío, where_ are _you?_ "

" _I swear, your brother will drive me to madness with these games of his_ ," Tauriel said as the two passed by the closed door. " _He is your father's son for sure, as I know I never acted out so much as he does!_ "

In spite of his annoyance with the elf, Thorin could not help being amused. The feeling was also bittersweet, for her frustration reminded him so much of Dís when one of the boys had tried her patience.

A sound so soft that one with less acute hearing than a dwarf would not have heard it came from behind him then, and both amusement and curiosity found footholds in his mind. Bard's son must have snuck in sometime before their arrival. "I would wait a moment before coming out, as your mother may hear you yet," he said softly.

One minute passed, then two, and then a quiet scuffling followed by the careful tread of one not entirely certain of what he was doing.

Thorin gestured with his hand, beckoning the boy forward. "Come, child. No harm will befall you in my presence."

Around the armchair in which he sat came a small boy with a mop of dark curly hair and brown eyes. The thumb of his left hand was securely planted in his mouth, and with his right he fiddled with the distinctly Elven point of his ear.

"So, you are Lucanío," Thorin said. "I have heard of you."

The thumb was removed. "Prince Lucanío Pengorion, son of Bard, King of Dale," the boy said, carefully enunciating each word before he swept his arm across his waist and bowed.

It was a bit over-dramatic, but he had tried so hard to be proper Thorin had to smile. When he straightened, Lucanío tilted his head to the side and gazed at him expectantly.

"Now it's your turn," he said.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "My turn?"

Lucanío nodded. "Yeah. _Nana_ and _Dada_ said when you meet someone, you s'posed to introduce yourself."

He chuckled. "They are correct," he replied, then raised his hand and placed it over his heart. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin, at your service."

The boy grinned hugely, and then of all the things he could have done, Thorin did not expect him to just climb up into his lap. Shock lifted his brow as Lucanío settled himself and then reached over to lift one of his braids, at the end of which was a silver clasp bearing the sigil of his family line.

After studying it a moment, he let it fall back to his shoulder and looked up at him. "Why was you and the other dwarfs asleep on the Ravenhill?"

"Dwarves," Thorin corrected him gently. "And we were there because…"

He paused, wondering just how much he could, or should, reveal. He did not know what, if anything, the boy's parents had explained to him or what they would wish him to know.

" _Nana_ said her friend Kíli died there saving her from a mean old orc," Lucanío went on as though he'd not even asked a question. "It made her real sad."

The boy sighed and laid his head on Thorin's shoulder. "I wish I knew how to help her not be sad."

Chuckling again, he replied, "I think not hiding from her would be a start."

Lucanío sat straight. "But I wanted to meet you! And she said I had to stay away 'cause you and the other dwarfs—dwarves—would want to be private."

More likely Tauriel had said they would desire privacy. He had to appreciate her efforts to give them that, though little good it had done. Bard had said he listened well despite his youth, but Lucanío was still just a little boy. And little boys were curious about things like strange dwarves he'd found lying on a hillside.

"Do you sing, Thorin? My _nana_ sings to me sometimes. She has a pretty voice— _Dada_ says it to her all the time, even though she just laughs when he says that," his little visitor said then, as he laid his head against his shoulder once more. "I think you would have a real deep voice, 'cause you already sound like thunder that's far away."

Surprise lifted his brows yet again—no one had ever described his voice quite like that before. He found it oddly pleasing.

"I do sing on occasion, and sometimes play the harp," Thorin answered. "I do not know that I could do so now, for my heart is filled with sadness."

"Why are you sad?"

He sighed, and fought the swelling of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "My sister passed away earlier this evening."

"I'm sorry. I know I would be really, really sad if one of my _thêles_ died. Did your _thêl_ like your singing?" Lucanío asked.

Thorin smiled. Dís had very much loved to hear him sing as he did it so little, preoccupied as he was with matters he considered more important than wasting time with frivolous pursuits like playing music. But on those rare occasions when he was relaxed and without worry, she could persuade him to sing and to play his harp with a smile and pleading eyes.

He recalled then that the last time he had sung was in the house of the Company's burglar. Sitting and standing around the fireplace they'd been when suddenly he felt compelled to sing "Far Over the Misty Mountains." The others had joined him, and Bilbo's hobbit hole had resonated with their melody.

Looking down at the boy in his lap he thought once more of Dís, and of the nights after Síli had died when his nephews had been this young and he had sang a song so they would go to sleep. And when the words began to play through his mind, he found himself unable to keep them from passing through his lips.

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold…"

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Aimugalikh_ \- Farewell

 _bahûnê_ \- my friend

 **Sindarin:**

 _thêles_ \- sisters

 _thêl_ \- sister


	11. Chapter 11

**Wow - ten people reviewed chapter 10. I think that's the most reviews I've ever gotten for a single chapter, and I'm absolutely chuffed! Thank you so very much to SethadoreVGC (love your enthusiasm!), readergirl4985, Dearreader, MDawn, Nenithiel, Aranel Mereneth, RuinofDarkness, Robinbird79, Eryn and MiyonzMae for writing a review. So glad you all are enjoying this story and liked the sweet to counter the sad.**

 **Thanks also to the recent favoriters/followers!**

* * *

 **11\. Revelations**

* * *

He was into the third verse before Thorin noticed that Lucanío had fallen asleep.

The boy's breathing was deep and even, and so the dwarf allowed his voice to fall silent as he curled his arm around the tiny body in his lap. Memories from decades past, when he had held Fíli or Kíli this way—sometimes both at once—flooded his thoughts. For the first time in a very long time, he allowed himself to reminisce.

A few minutes later, he heard knocking on Fíli's and Kíli's doors, and both Tauriel and Tilda asking if they might come in for a moment. He knew then that one of them would soon be at his looking to take his little visitor back to his own room.

Sure enough, once the door to the room next to his—Fíli's—had shut again, footsteps came toward his own.

 _Knock knock_.

"Come in," he called out just loud enough to be heard.

Tauriel poked her head around the door, then stepped inside fully when she saw her son. "Oh, thank goodness—I was on the verge of panic."

She turned then and looked out into the hall. "Tilda, I've found him. Thank you for your help."

The elf turned back to him after the girl had acknowledged and walked away. "I am sorry that Lucanío disturbed you, Thorin."

"It was a welcome disturbance," he replied. "I must say, your son is very articulate for one so young."

Tauriel grinned briefly. "That is the elf in him. My people learn to talk very early on, and are able to hold a conversation by the end of their first year. His grammar is sometimes wrong, but Luc does speak very well for his age."

Thorin chuckled. "And a lot," he said, recalling the toddler's loquaciousness.

"That he does. Again, my apologies that you were bothered," she said as she came closer. "I know you are not fond of elves, so I will endeavor to keep him occupied while you are with us."

He looked up at her with a frown as she reached for Lucanío, stilling her in mid-motion. "Think you so little of me, Madam, that you fear I would cause harm to your child?"

Tauriel blinked and stood straight. "No. But as I said, I know how you feel about my kin and Luc is half-Elven. Further, given that his very existence causes Kíli pain, I'm fairly certain you've a low opinion of me at present."

Thorin's gaze as he held hers was stern. "How I do or do not feel about you has no bearing on my feelings toward your son."

He looked down then at Lucanío's cherubic face, so relaxed and innocent in his slumber. The boy's thumb was in his mouth again, his other hand now wrapped around the end of the braid he'd examined before.

"He showed no fear," he said, almost to himself. "Only curiosity. He wanted to know why we were 'asleep' on Ravenhill, and asked me if I sing."

Looking up again, Thorin said, "He is just a child, Madam Elf. I do not hold the treachery of his forebears against him. And I think it safe to say that it is not Lucanío's existence which pains Kíli, but the fact that the elf he so foolishly allowed himself to become smitten with gave her affections to another not even a year after his death."

"Kíli told me himself that one's period of mourning is determined by them alone."

He scoffed. "And when did he say this?"

"When I was dying."

Thorin blinked. Kíli had not spoken of what transpired during his visit with her in the nether-realm, though now that he thought on it, his nephew's mood on returning had been dark—he must have learned then that she'd moved on. Thorin had thought having that memory blocked would be a benefit to Kíli, but perhaps he'd been wrong.

"Maybe you don't agree with how long it was before I moved on," Tauriel was saying. "Chances are you're not the only one who thinks that, but I cannot fret over how others view my choice. In truth, there was a time I was very confused, wondering how it was even possible that I was falling in love with Bard when I'd loved Kíli so much that the first time I came close to death was in my grief for him. Elves and dwarves are not entirely different, you see—we each of us mate for life. In admitting my love for my husband and realizing that we had bonded even before we wed, I had to accept that though I had truly loved Kíli, ours was a love that was not meant to last. Though he mourns what we lost with his death and now also mourns the death of his mother, it is my sincerest wish he will one day find the same healing that I did."

Drawing a breath, she bent and reached for her son again. At the same moment, Thorin wrapped his arms around the boy and stood in one fluid motion, causing her to take a step back. It unsettled him to hear her speak of her people having anything in common with his. Not only that, but the whole of her bearing had rung of truth. Kíli's affection for her had not been unrequited, and he was not sure how he felt about his nephew being loved by an elf.

"If you show me the way, I will carry Lucanío to his bed," he said, finding himself not able to meet her gaze. That also bothered him.

Tauriel cleared her throat nervously. "If you are certain…"

Thorin looked up with a cocked eyebrow. "I have already walked through the mountain twice, and the boy weighs next to nothing. I think I can handle it."

She nodded once and turned away swiftly, her skirt swishing softly around her legs as she walked. Thorin followed her to what was clearly the master suite, the first chamber they stepped into being a large sitting room that was easily half the size of his entire suite. Tauriel walked over to a door on the left of the fireplace and pushed it open.

This was most definitely Lucanío's room—a nursery, really—for the furniture was small and there were toys strewn about. Tauriel stepped over to the bed and drew the covers back, and Thorin came up beside her to lay her son down. He couldn't help the smile that formed when the boy's little fist tightened around his braid.

"Time to let me go, _mim bahûn_ ," he murmured as he gently pried Lucanío's fingers open. Spying a stuffed dragon on the floor, he picked it up and placed it in the bed next to him, and Lucanío's hand immediately reached for it.

Straightening, Thorin offered a polite nod to the boy's mother and headed for the door.

"Stubborn, arrogant, proud, and prejudiced."

He stopped and turned back at Tauriel's words. "That is what I think of you," she said slowly. "You don't always want to listen to the advice or opinion of others, determined as you are to always do things your way. You were born into privilege and therefore feel as though you are entitled to what you receive without having to put forth the effort to earn it. And you've a deeply rooted pride in yourself for who you were born to be, and in your people for all they have achieved."

Snorting softly, he retorted, "That covers stubborn, arrogant, and proud. Pray tell, what basis have you for labeling me prejudiced?"

"You hate elves—all of them, not just the ones who've done you wrong. You've had reason to think ill of Thranduil, I'll grant you that. What he did the day Smaug destroyed Dale and ran your people out of Erebor was wrong. Whatever his grievances with your grandfather, he should not have turned away from your people in your time of need."

"And what of you?" Thorin countered. "Were you not there with him and his gilded army? Did you not also turn away from us?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Tauriel replied. "I was a border guard, and therefore not a part of the army proper—the Guard is always left behind as the realm's last line of defense when the army is away. Though I was brought up in his house to always be cautious of dwarves and their greed for treasure, when I heard what he had done I was appalled. I could not believe that he would simply turn his back on anyone, let alone the homeless and starving. And on the day of the Battle of Five Armies, when he made to leave Dale with the remainder of his forces because so many of our kin had fallen, I tried to stop him. I told him you would all be slaughtered, and he mocked my love for your nephew."

Tears filled her eyes and she tilted her head back as she blinked them away. "You have had reason to distrust _some_ elves," she said after a moment, then looked down at him. "But we are not all of us deserving of your hate—there are elves in the west, in fact, that hold no ill feelings for your kin. Getting to know Kíli changed the way I think of dwarves, Thorin, and now I count more than one as a friend. You might consider getting to know a few elves and see if the same doesn't happen for you."

He very much doubted that would ever happen, but Thorin nevertheless acknowledged her words with a silent bow of his head before he walked away.

 **-...-**

Three days went by following the death of his mother. Fíli ached with missing her, and raged against the injustice of being returned to Middle-earth only to lose his only remaining parent. He wished she could come back as he and the others had, but knew somehow that she would not. He recognized that she had, in a way, lived a full life. She'd survived to adulthood, married a good dwarrow, and had raised her own children into adulthood. What more could she have asked for from her life?

 _Grandchildren_ , her voice had lamented in his mind. Fíli had smiled at the thought. Though what few of his kin that did marry rarely did so before the age of 90, almost as soon as he'd reached his majority she'd been dropping hints about his finding a suitable dwarrow lass and giving her grandbabies to bounce on her knee. He'd brushed her off, saying he was too busy learning to be a warrior—both on the battlefield and in politics, as he'd been named as Thorin's heir.

She'd turned her attention to Kíli when he turned 70 as well, claiming that a wife and children would do him good—with such responsibilities as a family to provide for, he wouldn't be near so reckless. His brother, as usual, always denied her claims, saying he was just as careful as the next dwarf.

Kíli had both him and Thorin worried. Their hosts were concerned as well—he hadn't emerged from his room since the first night they'd come to the manor. Anytime someone tried to visit, he feigned sleep or simply told them he wished to be left alone. Bard had invited them to share meals with his family hoping that would draw Kíli out, but he wouldn't even come out for food. Tilda and Tauriel were forced to take trays up to his room and leave them outside his door, and the only proof that he was eating anything was that the tray would be empty when they went to retrieve it.

The first meal with Bard and Tauriel was spent in awkward silence until Thorin had asked Bard how he liked being a king. It was not all it was cracked up to be, the man had said, as most of his day was spent in meetings of one nature or another. After that, he and Thorin began discussing their respective leadership strategies. It was almost amusing to watch them when upon first meeting Bard, Thorin hadn't trusted him in the least.

Fíli had then asked Tauriel what she did all day while Bard engaged in 'kingly business', now that she no longer had giant spiders to fight. One half of every day was spent with her son, she told him. It was important to her to not only nurture their relationship, but she also was laying the groundwork for his education by teaching him Sindarin as well as how to read and write. Also, being Queen was not just a ceremonial position, she said. Because of her heritage, it was only natural that she had become the ambassador of relations with the Woodland Realm. And due to her centuries of experience as a fighter, she was Bard's military advisor and trainer of their soldiers. She stood with the night's watch three days of the week given she needed so little sleep, and had recently taken up riding with the border patrol once a week.

"Bard actually rides with them the two other days we run patrols. The service does little at present except check in with the villages to see how they fare, which is a good thing," she said. "We are certainly pleased that no troubles have befallen our people thus far. I found I rather like going out, though. Reminds me of my patrols in the woods—though with fewer trees."

"You have other villages?" Fíli asked.

Tauriel looked to him and nodded. "Indeed. Esgaroth was rebuilt in the first year after the battle and in the last three two more villages have grown, as people have come from all over the south and west to repopulate this region. Dorwinion, the city by the Sea of Rhûn, was also made part of our kingdom by decree of their lord."

"I have heard of Dorwinion. Do they not make a fine wine there?"

Tauriel had grinned and said, "They are quite famous for their wines, yes. I have only been once myself, and admit I should like to go again someday as the inland sea was quite a lovely sight to behold."

After that first breakfast, Fíli found himself less sullen, though no less brokenhearted. He was even surprised to find he was rather impressed with little Lucanío. The boy was a chatterbox, asking question after question about dwarves, some of which his mother or sister would gently point out he already knew the answer to. The boy was intelligent and articulate beyond his years, and wicked fast on the run. One afternoon he'd been out in the courtyard smoking from a pipe Dwalin had provided (provisions such as clothing, pipes, and tobacco had been brought over by the other dwarf the day after his mother's death), while Tilda chased her little brother around. Both were laughing merrily, and the teen was never quite able to catch him. As soon as she got close, he would speed off again.

On the third evening, when he and Thorin once again joined Bard and his kin alone, Fíli felt compelled to ask Tauriel if she'd said anything to Kíli the first night that might have upset him.

Her eyes were sad as she replied, "I do not think I have to speak to him to upset Kíli. Though he told me he was grateful Bard had saved me from succumbing to my grief for him, that does not take away from the fact that the one he loves has chosen another. It cannot be easy for him just to be in the same house—to be forced to watch us together or with our child would be as a sharp knife to his skin."

"'Tis a good thing, then, that he doesn't know you're to have another next year," Tilda observed.

Fíli glanced at his uncle while Tauriel's face reddened and she bit her lip. Bard's expression grew dark as he said, "Dearest, I do not believe that was your news to share."

Tilda dropped her eyes to her plate. "Forgive me. I did not mean to speak out of turn."

Fíli cleared his throat. "Um, congratulations, my Lady. My Lord."

Bard nodded and the elf smiled briefly. "Thank you. I was told that a daughter would come to me, and was quite overjoyed to hear her song from the beginning, as I missed that of my son."

"What do you mean?"

"I…" She flicked her eyes to Bard, who reached over and took her hand in his. Drawing a breath, Tauriel looked back and told of how she'd seen a vision of the future in which Bard had died, and it had frightened her so deeply that she'd run away to the west—not knowing at the time that she was already with child. When an Elven female conceived, she explained, the spirit of the child would "sing" to the mother to let her know life had begun. Her troubled emotional state had made her deaf to the song of life Lucanío's spirit had sung to her.

"In truth," she said with a derisive snort, "it is a miracle I am even here to speak with you, as I came close to death three times that year. The first was after the battle, when I grieved for your brother. The second was in my flight, when I had just crossed the Misty Mountains and was attacked by a pack of orcs and goblins. I lived only by the grace of the Valar, who had led a group of Rangers to that same place. Two of them, Ranárë and Bronwë, were able to spirit me to Rivendell where I was healed by Lord Elrond."

"Bronwë!" Fíli exclaimed with a glance at his uncle. "We met her and her kin when the Company passed through Rivendell on our journey east. How does she fare?"

Tauriel smiled. "When last I saw her, she was quite well, her younger sisters still driving her to madness."

"What of the third?" Thorin asked. When all eyes turned to him, he pressed on. "You said you were near death three times. What of the third?"

Fíli frowned. There was something in his uncle's expression he could not quite put his finger on—it was as though he knew something, some other facet to the story and only needed the final part to piece it all together.

"Someone poisoned me while I still carried my son," Tauriel said. "She desired Bard for herself and imagined that if I were dead he would turn his affections to her."

"As if," Bard said with a snort.

"Poison is not usually fatal to my kin except in extremely high doses," Tauriel continued. "Females are especially susceptible when they are with child. What I was given was enough to weaken my spirit and draw my _fëa_ to the nether-realm. There I met with four spirits who encouraged me to fight for my life and that of my child. Two were my parents, one was Kíli—"

"So that explains it," mumbled Thorin.

"What does that mean, Uncle?" Fíli asked. When the older dwarf remained silent, he banged his fist on the edge of the table, eliciting a yelp from Lucanío.

"You're hiding something," he said accusingly as he stared at Thorin's profile. "You said that first night that you remembered everything, but you've not revealed everything to us. Why is that?"

Thorin's hand fisted around his fork and he stared resolutely at his plate as he said, "Fíli, do not ask questions you do not wish to know the answers to."

"I'd not have asked if I did not want to know."

At last his uncle turned to him, his expression impassive. " _Irakdashat_ , do you not trust me to know what I am doing?"

Fíli barely contained a groan of exasperation. "Of course I trust you, _Irak'adad_. I just wish I _knew_ what it is you're doing. Perhaps if I did we could help Kíli get through this better."

"Should doing so become a necessity, Fíli, I will tell you everything," Thorin replied. "For now, you do not need to know."

With that, Thorin stood and, after nodding respectfully to Bard, turned and walked away.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _mim_ – little

 _bahûn_ – friend (masculine singular)

 _irakdashat_ – nephew


	12. Chapter 12

**I am so chuffed - ACoF has an incredible 93 reviews already! So, so thankful to everyone who leaves a few words, especially my repeat reviewers. Nenithiel, MiyonzMae, MDawn, Robinbird79, Eryn, Celebrisilweth, Bleeding Blue Kunoichi, and IsabelleBrown - you all ROCK!**

 **Can't rightly recall if there were any new favoriters/followers in the last few days, but if so I definitely thank you too!**

* * *

 **12. _Abkât_**

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The day of the service dawned appropriately dreary. Rainclouds covered the sky and blocked the light of the sun, casting the valley in a dull gray pallor as wetness drizzled over the land. Fíli was dressing in a thick tunic of deep blue—often called Durin blue amongst his kin—when he was surprised by his brother, who entered his chamber by passing through their shared privy. Kíli wore a similar ensemble to what he'd chosen.

Fíli immediately stepped up to him and wrapped him in a hug. "It's good to see you up and about, _naddith_ ," he said.

Kíli was slow to return the embrace, but when at last his arms rose, they clamped around him in an iron grip. "I'm sorry, _nadad_. I just needed some time to myself."

Standing back, he looked into his brother's eyes. There were clear signs that Kíli had been crying over the last three days, but he let it go and merely nodded. He then gathered up the cloak he'd been given that had a hood deep enough to cover his face—his brother already wore a similar one—and threw it around his shoulders before leading the way out.

They met Thorin in the hall, who appeared greatly relieved to see Kíli on his feet. He offered them both a nod before turning and heading for the ground floor, where they met with Bard, Tauriel, Tilda…and Sigrid.

 _She's not supposed to be here_ , Fíli mused as Thorin scowled at Bard.

"Before you lash out, Master Dwarf," said Dale's king, "I did what I could to persuade Sigrid to remain behind. She would have none of it, so I had to let her in on our little secret."

"I…I am quite stunned," Sigrid began, "but also very pleased to see you all. I regret that the miracle of your return is overshadowed with sadness. Please do not be angry with Da for telling me of you—he truly did try to convince me to stay at home."

"And why did you refuse to listen?" Thorin asked her.

"No doubt you think me impertinent, but I came because I wished to pay my respects to the Lady Dís. She is—was—a Princess of Erebor as I am a Princess of Dale. As King Dáin is our friend and ally, I feel it is my duty to stand with her kin as she is laid to rest," she replied.

Thorin drew a breath and Fíli thought he was about to give her a striding, but instead he nodded. "Will you give me your word that you'll speak to no one of our presence—not even your husband?"

Sigrid stood straight and looked at him squarely. "I'll not lie to Téomas if he asks me a direct question, but neither shall I volunteer information. I do not think you've anything to worry about, Master Dwarf, as it is highly unlikely my husband will have any such questions to ask."

Again Fíli imagined his uncle would argue, but he seemed to think better of it. "Fair enough," he replied, then looked around. "Where is Lucanío?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Fíli watched his brother for a reaction—a muscle twitched in his jaw, but he otherwise remained stoic.

"My son is spending the day with Téomas," Tauriel replied. "I do not think him quite ready to attend a funeral."

Thorin offered another curt nod, then drew his hood up and down over his face. Fíli followed suit, as did Kíli, and then they left the manor to go and tell his mother goodbye.

Upon arrival the three of them stood in the very back of the great burial chamber known as the Tomb of Kings, while Bard and his family moved closer to the front. Balin led the service—oh, how good it was to see him, even though the circumstances were so depressing. Every member of Thorin's Company was there, as were hundreds upon hundreds of other dwarves. It was a miracle there was even a shadow left for him, his uncle, and his brother to stand in, what with every available space being taken up by a dwarf expressing his or her grief.

Fíli was not ashamed of the fact that his moustache was soaked with tears by the time the ceremony was over. Mahal, he hated this day. Here he was, in Erebor again, forced to bid his mother farewell from the sidelines, hidden in darkness like a thief. It felt so terribly wrong that it had taken a great deal of his willpower to not throw off the cloak and reveal himself. He'd wanted so badly to speak to the others from the Company, but knew he could not.

Thorin had decreed their presence was to remain a secret, and keeping that secret was beginning to tear him apart.

Because they could not join the feast that evening, Fíli, Thorin, and Kíli returned to Dale with Sigrid and Carr; Lucanío's bodyguard had been called to stand in for her own because he'd already seen them. Bard, Tauriel, Tilda, and their bodyguards (Tilda's having been replaced by Gildan for the day) had remained behind for the reception.

Back at the manor, Sigrid prepared a meal for them, which surprisingly Kíli joined them for. Little was said beyond Thorin venturing to ask her about her husband and son. Sigrid spoke with pride of her little family, telling of Téomas' work with horses aided by his mother and younger brother, who'd relocated with him from Edoras. Her delight in being a mother shone clear when she told them about Brannon (his name being a Ñoldorin word for "lord"), who had turned one year old a month prior.

Sigrid had taken her leave after the repast to return to her own house, leaving the three dwarves truly alone for the first time since their rebirth. Kíli immediately retreated to his room and Fíli watched him go with a sigh. Thorin also chose to seek privacy, which left Fíli shaking his head and wondering if his uncle was avoiding him. The elder dwarrow had been rather reticent since the evening before when he'd asked him what he knew.

Thorin had asked Fíli if he trusted him, and he'd been truthful when he said he did. Why couldn't that trust be returned?

It was late that evening when Bard, Tauriel, and Tilda returned, and they were not alone. Dáin and Dwalin had come along, no doubt to speak to Thorin about his plans for the future. This was a discussion Fíli was eager to take part in, and was not altogether surprised when he was directed to go and fetch his brother. Thankfully he didn't have much trouble drawing Kíli out of his room, and they joined their uncle and kinsmen, and Bard and Tauriel, in the dining room.

As Tilda was coming from the kitchen with a tray loaded with mugs and a pitcher, Dáin turned to Thorin and asked him, "All right, cousin. Ye've had four bloody days to think on it, and while I know losing Dís was a mighty hard blow from Mahal's hammer, it cannae have sidetracked ye that much. We really need to talk about yer coming back."

Thorin had glanced at him over the rim of his cup as he took a drink of the ale that Tilda had served. His regard was almost calculated as he slowly set the cup down and said, "Why are you so eager to know what my plans are? Do you worry that I will take the high kingship away from you and send you back to that lowly lordship in the Iron Hills? What became of our shares of the hoard upon our deaths—did you keep all that gold for yourself? Where is the Arkenstone? You only came to our aid _after_ the dragon was dead. Was it because you hoped he would have killed us so you could take the kingship? And strange it seemed to me, cousin, that you accepted so readily the return of my sister-sons and me. Why is that?"

The litany of questions were all legitimate ones that Fíli himself was interested in knowing the answers to, but at the same time a niggling thought planted itself in the back of his mind. Why did he suddenly feel like his uncle was purposely evading the issue?

Dáin exchanged a glance with Dwalin, and even flicked his eyes to Bard before he returned his gaze to Thorin. "Firstly, ye know perfectly well why I waited to find out if ye'd get the mountain back or no—that blasted dragon had taken enough dwarrow lives and I was not about to risk throwing away hundreds more on what could well have been a suicide mission. It was only sheer luck, or perhaps another blessing from the Maker, that ye gits didn't get fried after ye woke 'im up."

"No, they left that to us in Lake-town," Tilda said, her tone bitter.

"Tilda," Bard admonished lightly.

Dwalin held up a hand. "It's all right, she's got reason to be sore, as do you," he said. "It was our waking of Smaug that set his wrath upon you and cost the lives of so many of your kinfolk."

Dáin took a swig from his mug before he took the lead again. "The fact that the three o' ye were lying alive and well in a bed here in Dale when I set eyes on ye for the first time in four years gave me little recourse but to accept that ye'd come back somehow. Ye told us Mahal himself asked that ye be reborn, and yer no liar. As for the Arkenstone, it was laid upon yer breast by this one here," he said, jerking his thumb in Bard's direction. "It rests with…well, with yer original bones in your crypt in the Tomb of Kings. Thranduil, poncy elf that he is, actually laid that sword with the dragon's tooth on top o' the sarcophagus, that its glow might warn us of attacking orcs or goblins."

"The Company agreed that your share of the treasure should go to Dáin, as he was to be King," Dwalin offered. "Fíli and Kíli's shares were put in trust for Dís. We only ever touched it to pay for her medical care."

"It'd only be right the lads should have ownership reverted back to them, o' course," Dáin added. "And ye know sodding well I was perfectly happy with my 'lowly lordship'. Becoming High King o' the Seven Families was always yer destiny. Ye know full well I wanted no part o' that—too much bloody responsibility and politics involved in this job. I always said ye were more than welcome to it.

"Thus, the reason I am eager to know what yer plans are is because… well, because yer bloody back from the dead! No dwarf has ever returned from the Great Forge, Thorin. That's got to mean Mahal's got a special plan for ye lot."

"If that is so, I have no idea what it is," Thorin mused darkly, then took another pull from his drink. "All I know is that you've no need to fear that I shall take the kingship from you. It is yours until you are dead or you step down in favor of your heir."

His uncle's gaze brushed across Fíli and his brother before landing squarely on Dáin as he said, "We will not be staying. I fought to reclaim Erebor for my people and now my people have it. My task is therefore done."

"You're joking."

Fíli turned to Kíli to find a dark look had taken hold of his brother's face. Without a shred of doubt, he knew in that instant that the younger dwarrow had finally had enough.

"I mean, you've _got_ to be bloody joking," Kíli said. "We traipsed all the way across Eriador, through the Shire and Rivendell and the Troll Shaws, through the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood and Lake-town; I took a Morgul arrow to the knee, Fee and I survived sodding dragon fire, and then I had a mace put through my heart—and we're _not staying_?!"

"No, Kíli, we are not."

"Well this is _rukhs kakhf_!" Kíli yelled as he stood, his motion so swift and sudden that his chair toppled over. "What the _feck_ did we come back for?! Really, why the _razâd_ are we even here? You're giving up the kingship to Dáin, Fíli and I have lost our mother, I've lost Tauriel, and now you're telling me that the mountain we fecking _died_ defending won't even be our home?! What was the point of sending us back if we must give up _everything_ we fought and died for?!"

His voice had risen in volume to a scream as he railed against their uncle, and Fíli felt his chest tighten in sympathy. He should have forced Kíli to talk to him sooner instead of allowing him to stew in anger and misery for three days.

Though a muscle in his jaw twitched, Thorin's voice was steady as he said, "Kíli, it is for your own good that we go."

"Bollocks! How is any decision you make for my own good? Or Fíli's? You're the one that fecking got us killed!"

At that he swiped his hand against the mug of ale he'd not even touched, throwing it across the table to fall and break on the floor, before storming out.

Fíli stood immediately to follow as Tauriel turned tearfully into Bard's shoulder; Tilda, too, had large drops glistening on her cheeks. For a moment he could only stare disbelievingly at his uncle, then he shook his head and headed for the door.

"Fíli, let him be. Kíli will come around," Thorin said.

He paused in the doorway, feeling his own anger beginning to boil. A chair scraped behind him and a moment later Tilda was at his side.

"I'll go," she said softly.

He nodded and she started past him, pausing when her father called out, "Dearest, be mindful. Kíli's in a fell temper."

Tilda nodded, then hurried out.

"Thorin, are you sure this is what you want to do?" Dwalin asked. "Erebor's where you were born. My entire life, all I ever heard you and your _adad_ talk about was getting the mountain back someday."

"Dwalin, it is less what I want to do and more what I must do."

Fíli stalked back to where he'd sat and leaned over the table, bracing his weight on his fists as he glared at Thorin.

"Must do, you say? Tell us why, Uncle," he demanded.

When Thorin remained stubbornly silent, Fíli growled in frustration and paced away. After a moment he turned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he said, "Last night you said if it became necessary you'd tell me everything I needed to know. Well, it _is_ necessary and I need to know—now. What the _razâd_ happened in the Great Forge that you are so bent on keeping from us?"

"The lad is right, cousin," Dáin agreed. "I think it's time ye told us what yer hidin' in that thick skull o' yorn."

A tense minute or so passed, then Thorin groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "Mahal, I tried it your way. It's not working out as either of us had hoped," he mumbled.

"What are you talking about?" Fíli queried.

His uncle looked back at him with a haunted expression. "The High King of the Valar said he had felt a great disturbance the day we arrived in the Halls of Waiting, and in his meditations the One revealed to him that you, your brother, and I were not supposed to have perished in the battle."

Fíli blinked. "You mean we…" he started to say, and then a buzzing sensation spread through his head as a memory came to him. "I… I remember. The Lord of the Dead went to bring him to the Halls because there were so many arriving all at once. Manwë said something to someone called Varda—a female was with him when he came—about keeping Mahal away until he'd had time to meditate. Targo said the Line of Durin was the Maker's favorite, and Ellúrien said something about Manwë being afraid of how he'd react when he found out we were there."

"Ellúrien?" Tauriel asked.

He nodded. "Yes. I know now that she was the twin of your bodyguard—I didn't know it when I first met Ellairë after waking because I didn't have access to the memory."

She turned to Thorin. "You met Ellúrien in the Halls of Waiting? You met High King Manwë, Queen Varda, and Lord Mandos?"

Thorin nodded slowly. "We also met our Maker. Remember him, Fíli. Remember that you stood before Mahal himself."

Dáin and Dwalin both drew sharp breaths on hearing those words, even though Thorin had already spoken of being sent back at Mahal's request. "I do remember. He was devastated to see us. You pleaded with him not to weep because our deaths were honorable. He wanted to know what happened, and when we told him about Azog… As a matter of fact, the fecking orc is what upset Manwë as well. They knew Dáin was supposed to have beheaded him at Azanulbizar and couldn't understand how he was leading the orc army at the battle."

"I bloody well did cleave his head off, the dirty bugger," Dáin grumbled. "Right after Thorin cut his arm off for defiling Thror."

"What else do you remember, Fíli?" Thorin pressed. "What did Manwë tell us about Azog?"

"He said that the Necromancer resurrected him for the sole purpose of ending our bloodline. _That's_ what altered our destinies. _That's_ why we died when we were supposed to have lived."

The sudden flood of memories from the Halls of Waiting were making him dizzy, so Fíli returned to his chair and dropped heavily into it. He reached for his mug of ale and chugged it before looking to Thorin to ask, "Why, Uncle? Why didn't you want us to remember?"

A look of regret filled his uncle's gaze. "I did what I thought was best in order to protect you and your brother."

"Protect us from what? Azog is dead—you said you killed him yourself."

Thorin sighed. "Before I awakened to this new life, Mahal came to me. He said it was up to me what you and Kíli would recall from our time in Valinor. It was his suggestion that I keep you from remembering we had been purposely hunted so that our bloodline would be exterminated, that you would be free of that burden. The One spoke to me as well, saying that Sauron fears our blood as he does the blood of Elendil among Men. Within us is the power to rid Middle-earth of his fell spirit."

"I'm confused," said Dáin. "Did ye not say that the Necromancer is the git what reanimated Azog? What's he got ta do with Sauron the Deceiver?"

"The Necromancer _is_ Sauron," Bard said. "Gandalf spoke of it when he came to warn us about Azog's army. He said Sauron desired the mountain more for its strategic location than the vast stores of gold within it."

"You could have told us, Thorin," Fíli said. "You _should_ have told us."

"Fíli, Mahal wanted you safe— _I_ wanted you safe," Thorin countered. "Instead of doing as your mother asked me to, I caved to yours and Kíli's begging to be made a part of the Company, and look where it got you both: Dead. It is my fault that her only children were killed, my fault that she died of a grief too great to bear even after you were returned to her. I failed your mother once, Fíli. I will not fail her again."

Fíli drew a breath, held it, and released it slowly as he regarded his uncle. Guilt and regret were firmly etched into Thorin's countenance, and even though he was plenty angry for having been kept in the dark, he could not bear to look upon the dwarrow who'd been as a father to him in such a state.

"I remember everything now," he said slowly. "Manwë said the battle was set, and that we were _all_ supposed to survive it. Which means we were supposed to be there, Kíli and I. Our deaths are no one's fault but Azog's and Bolg's and that bastard Sauron, and two of those are dead. Sauron's nowhere near full strength—Manwë said that as well—so what is there to fear? From what were you trying to keep us safe?"

Thorin's eyes flicked to Dáin and Dwalin again. "When Mahal told me I would choose what you remembered, he said also that Azog and Bolg were not Sauron's only minions. He said that in Erebor we would be targets for other spies and assassins in the Deceiver's employ. That is why we cannot stay here. It is why we must tell as few who know us as possible that we have returned."

Dáin scowled. "The Maker himself told ye not to trust yer own kin?"

"Not in those exact words," Thorin replied. "Believe me, Dáin, it would give me greatest pleasure to tell my friends and kinsmen that we have been blessed by Mahal with a second life, as no dwarrow has before us. But even those that are trusted can inadvertently betray. I will not risk Fíli's and Kíli's lives for the sake of my own desires."

"You would sacrifice your chance to be king, to live in the realm of your birth, to keep your sister-sons safe?" Dwalin asked.

"Yes."

Fíli surprised them when he began to chuckle. "You know, _Irak'adad_ , for all your wisdom you can be so _zukun_ ," he said. "While I appreciate what you and Mahal were trying to do, it was the wrong way to go. Kíli and I may still be young in your eyes, but we're grown. We're not stupid. I think the choice as to whether or not to brave the danger of being hunted is ours to make."

Shaking his head, he pushed to his feet again and started toward the door. He paused by Thorin's chair to look down at him. "Your way is not always the right way, Uncle—you were wrong not to let us remember from the beginning. When are you going to trust Kíli and I to make our own choices?"

Without waiting for an answer, Fíli left the room to go in search of his brother. He missed the deep chuckle that followed in his wake, as well as Dáin's words of warning, "Lad, ye've gone and done it now. Pissed 'em both off right and proper, and we all know the temper of a Son of Durin runs hot. Not a great way ta start off this new life."

"Just wait," Dwalin added, mirth tinging his own voice. "He's gonna have to deal with Kíli twice."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Abkât_ – Truth

 _nadad_ – brother

 _rukhs_ – orc

 _kakhf_ – fecal matter

 _zukun_ – dim


	13. Chapter 13

**Aranel Mereneth, Nenithiel, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, MDawn, MiyonzMae, Eryn and Celebrisilweth - you are all awesome people. Thank you, as always, for the reviews.**

 **Eryn - I don't know that Tilda has a crush on Kili, but she _has_ seen him almost completely naked, and I've no doubt she was impressed by his physique. There could be some girlish infatuation there, but it's nothing she's recognized.**

* * *

 **13\. Chasing Memories**

* * *

What was she doing, running after a dwarf with a plate full of rage and a helping of crippling emotional pain on the side?

Tilda had no idea, truly, save that she knew Kíli shouldn't be alone right now. Fíli needed to stay and get answers from Thorin— _Who better bloody well give them up_ , she thought—and she knew the others, including her father, would want to stay and hear those answers.

That left her to see to Kíli. _Yavanna help me_.

She caught up with him as he was about to throw open the front door. "Kíli wait!"

He froze. "Why should I?"

Tilda ventured closer, wringing her hands as she walked, hoping she could find the right thing to say. "Look, I know you are angry at your uncle, and I understand why. He's keeping things from you and your brother and he made a unilateral decision about yours and Fíli's future without consulting you. It was wrong of him, no doubt of that, but… Well, I'm sure he had his reasons. Foolish ones—I've no doubt of that either. Fíli's even now browbeating them out of him."

Kíli's hand tightened on the knob. "Why?" he asked after a moment. "I just don't bloody understand why."

She had a feeling he was not talking about Thorin's obstinacy. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, except to guess. You're the first dwarves in history to be reborn, so there must be some reason for it. I do not think your maker would plead for your return if not for some greater purpose."

Taking a deep breath, she moved until she was standing next to him. They were the same height at present, but her father swore she wasn't done growing. She might end up taller than Kíli someday, but for now she was not and that made things a little easier for her—they stood eye-to-eye. This time when she took his chin, it was with a gentler hand than the one she'd used before.

"Don't leave. Not just yet. Let your brother talk some sense into your uncle and get the answers you deserve," Tilda said softly.

The deep brown of his eyes appeared black in the dim lighting of the foyer. Kíli studied her for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding. She released him as he released the door handle, then she reached for his hand.

"Come with me, Master Dwarf," she said, and pulled gently to get him to follow. Kíli did not resist being led away, thankfully, and so she walked them through the hall and out into the courtyard.

The nights were getting cooler—snow would likely come soon. Tilda tried not to think about the chill in the air as she stepped outside with Kíli in tow.

"Breathe in the clean, crisp air," she told him. "Try to relax and clear your mind."

Kíli scoffed as he stepped away from her. "I hardly think that will work, Princess."

Tilda huffed, her breath steaming before her face. "I know you're upset, and about more than your uncle. You've got to calm yourself before you can speak of it rationally."

"Who says I want to speak of it?"

"Whether you want to or not, you need to," she returned. "You can't keep bottling your emotions up, Kíli. You've got to deal with them in order to move on from the pain."

Kíli tilted his head back to stare up at the cloudy sky. "There is no moving on from this pain," he said. "The only thing Thorin _has_ told us is we all made the choice to come back. There are but two things in this world that would have enticed me to return and I've lost them both, which means I came back for nothing."

"Firstly, I am deeply sorry about your mother," Tilda said. "Mine died when I was three so I don't really remember her, but I can sympathize with not having one. Da raised us all on his own."

He turned to look at her. "You were three when your mother died?"

She nodded. "Aye. She caught an illness that Da couldn't afford the medicine for. I'm told it would not have mattered, as they only make it in Gondor, and by the time he could have got any it wouldn't have done her any good. Least that's what Sigrid told me when I was finally old enough to understand why we had no mother."

"I was three when my father died. I don't really remember him either," Kíli confessed. "Only memory I have of him is meeting him in the Great Forge."

"At least you have that," Tilda said. "I've got nothing except my sister, whom everyone says resembles Mam a great deal. And while I certainly love Sigrid, who was the only mother-figure I knew for most of my life, it's just not the same thing as remembering the one we lost.

"You, on the other hand, will have loads of memories of your mother. Don't waste time regretting the years you'll miss, Kíli, and be happy to have had the years with her that you did."

She shivered then and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Kíli noticed and came closer. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"It's chilly, but I'm all right."

"Don't be silly—here," he said, unsnapping the coat he wore and yanking it down his arms.

"Kíli, I'm fine, really. We're out here for you," Tilda protested.

He ignored her as he reached around her and draped the coat over her shoulders. She had to admit that she instantly felt better, as it was still quite warm from the heat of his body.

"Won't you get cold?" she asked as she gathered it together.

Kíli scoffed and waved off her concern. "Nah. 'Tis not cold enough out here to bother me."

He moved then over to one of the stone benches around the edge of the courtyard and sat down with a thunk. Tilda walked over and sat next to him as he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees.

"Secondly," she began, "I'm both sorry and not sorry about Tauriel. I'm sorry because it's clear that you love her a great deal, and it pains you to know you'll never be together. She says you don't remember it, but you did give her your blessing."

This time he snorted derisively. "And when could I have possibly done such a thing?"

"She said your spirit visited her in the nether-realm, this place between life and death that troubled spirits are drawn to," Tilda explained.

"She mentioned it," he said. "The first night we came to the manor, she said she wished I remembered."

"So do I. She told us that while it pained you to know she'd moved on and given her heart to another, you told her it mattered more to you that she was happy than it did who made her so."

Kíli looked down at his hands, turning them over and back as he said, "Funny thing about that is I probably did say it. As much as it kills me I'll never have her, I _am_ glad that she's happy. That she's loved. That's all that matters to me."

He glanced over then. "Your father… He's been good for her."

Tilda smiled. "She's been good for him. Many women have desired him over the years, but he didn't give any of them a second look. Da was a confirmed bachelor—said we three were all he needed to be happy.

"And then Tauriel came along. At first he offered her a job teaching our men how to fight as a thank-you for ensuring us children were safe. Then they became friends, and though he was rather reluctant to admit it even to himself, after a while she became important to him beyond their friendship," she went on. "It took some convincing on his part for her to give him a chance, as she was not sure how she could be feeling anything for him when she'd loved you so much. Elves mate for life, you see, and she thought that having loved you meant she'd never love another."

"Dwarves are the same way," Kíli said. "When we give our hearts away, that's it. Over and done. And if the one we want is either already spoken for or does not want us in return, we vow never to love and dedicate ourselves to our crafts."

"That seems rather silly. What if the person you wanted isn't even the right person for you? What if they're not the one you're meant to be with?"

Kíli shrugged. "It's a chance we take," he said.

For a moment there was silence, then Tilda ventured to say, "Tauriel makes my da happier than he's been in years. When he looks at her, you can see the love he feels for her. When he looks at Lucanío, not only do you see the love he has for my brother, there's something in his expression that says he loves Tauriel for giving him another son, one he'd never even dreamed of having."

She considered only fleetingly mentioning that Tauriel was pregnant again. But her father had been right before in that it was not her news to share, so she kept it to herself.

"So that's why you're not sorry," Kíli observed. "Because Tauriel makes your father happy."

"Yes. I will never be sorry to see him so."

"He'd better take care of her, or I'll not be held responsible for what I do."

Tilda had to laugh. "You sound like an over-protective father, you know."

"Well, seeing as I'm not like to have children of my own, I might as well adopt one," Kíli replied with a snort.

"You never know," she countered. "If Tauriel's heart could be healed from losing you, perhaps yours could be healed from losing her. Maybe you loved her just enough to learn to love someone else."

"I highly doubt that, Princess."

He sucked in a breath and blew it sharply through his lips. "Let's talk about something else. Anything else."

Tilda nodded though his gaze was not on her. "All right… Do you think you're up to talking about your mam? I only met with her a few times, and I'm afraid most of those weren't her better days. Only once when I went along with Laivindil and Gildan was she right of mind."

Kíli swallowed. "Did…did she speak of us? Of my brother and me?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact she did," she replied. "I can't say what made her think of it, save perhaps her knowing she was ill, but she recounted a story from your childhood. Dís said dwarves don't get sick very often because of their hearty constitutions, but that you'd been once as a boy and Fíli refused to go out and play no matter how much she tried to persuade him, because you couldn't go out to play with him."

The faint light of the few torches that lit the courtyard showed her, at long last, the hint of a smile on his face. Inside, Tilda cheered her victory.

"I remember that," Kíli said fondly. "She was forever telling Fíli to look after me, so that's what he did. He would bring me toys to play with when I felt up to it, since I couldn't get out of bed. And since she'd restricted my diet to broth and bread, he would sneak me a sweet cake every night. I swear those cakes got me better faster than the broth did."

Tentatively, Tilda reached out a hand to lay it on his shoulder, and to her surprise she felt him trembling.

"I miss her, Tilda. I can't even begin to make you understand how much it hurts that she's gone."

"Your mother loved you, Kíli. She may not be here physically, but she'll always be with you so long as you keep the memory of her in your heart."

When he looked back at her there were tears in his eyes. Kíli stared for a long moment, then looked away with a sniffle. Tilda gave his shoulder a squeeze and said no more.

 **-...-**

That was how Fíli found them some minutes later, sitting together in silence. He approached cautiously.

"Kee? You all right now?"

Kíli looked up. "I don't know as I'll ever be all right. But you don't have to worry I'll bite your head off."

"At least not tonight," Fíli retorted with a light chuckle. He then cleared his throat and said, "Listen, Thorin finally told us everything. Took some convincing, stubborn arse that he is."

Standing, Kíli approached him. "What did he say?"

"I don't know that my telling you will help you remember. I think it has to come from him, as Mahal gave him control of our recall."

Kíli frowned. "Why on Arda would he do that?"

Fíli snorted. "They thought it was in our 'best interests'," he replied sarcastically. "Thought being free of the burden of that knowledge would be a good thing for us."

"Durin's beard, we're not bloody dwarflings!" Kíli cried out.

"That's what I said. I told Thorin he needed to accept that you and I are old enough to make our own decisions," Fíli agreed.

"Sounds to me like you and your uncle need to have a little chat," Tilda said as she stood. "Go, Kíli, and get your memories back. Maybe in so doing, you'll find some measure of peace."

Kíli looked back to her, taking in her pretty face and earnest expression. He knew he owed her a debt of gratitude, for Tilda had been nothing but straightforward with him even while she'd offered him comfort. It was a behavior not wholly unfamiliar, as it reminded him fondly of his mother.

Stepping back to her, he bent his head and kissed her cheek. When he straightened, he looked into her eyes and offered a smile. "Thank you for braving the storm of my temper," he said. "Go on inside now, before you catch a chill."

Tilda smiled and slipped his coat off her shoulders, handing it over as she said, "Have a good night, if you can."

The brothers watched her go, then Kíli put his coat back on and tried his best to ignore the sweet fragrance that lingered on the collar.

Shaking himself, he said to Fíli, "Come on, _nadad_. Let's go see what Uncle has to say for himself."

Fíli nodded and they returned to the dining room. Dáin and Dwalin were still there, as was Thorin of course. Bard and Tauriel were nowhere to be seen, and having noticed his roaming gaze, his uncle cleared his throat.

"Our hosts have retired for the evening," he said slowly. "Please, sit down, Kíli, and allow me to explain myself."

Kíli couldn't help the scowl that came to his face. "It's about bloody time you did," he muttered as he took the chair to his uncle's left, across from Dáin. Fíli sat down beside him.

"You may not believe me, but I struggled with whether or not to follow Mahal's suggestion of keeping your memories from you," Thorin began. "I thought perhaps if I did, things would be better for you both. Clearly that is not the case."

"You think?"

"Kíli, I know you're angry, lad, but let your uncle speak," Dwalin said.

His scowl deepened, but he gestured wordlessly for Thorin to continue. His uncle laid it all out for him, and as he did so, the memories came rushing back. Ellúrien. Targo. Mahal. Sitting in the Great Forge with the vast number of relatives who'd passed before them.

Tauriel in the ether—he'd known even before coming back that she'd moved on. Kíli wished he could have woken with that small measure of acceptance, as the impact of hearing she was with Bard would not have been such a hard blow. Maybe.

When Thorin finished, he apologized again. "I was only doing what I thought was best for you and your brother," he added.

Kíli sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "Uncle, you know I'm with Fíli on this one: When are you going to accept that we are grown and capable of making our own choices? _Amad_ may have thought me reckless, but I am not entirely without intelligence. You should have told us everything from the moment you awoke, that Fee and I could make an informed decision about whether to stay and brave the danger or to go with you and leave Erebor behind. We chose to come back to Middle-earth—that choice should be ours to make as well."

"You're right, _Irakdashat_ ," Thorin said resignedly. "And I will abide by whatever choice you make. Mahal gave me a direction, if not a purpose, and I will follow it to whatever end. But should you and Fíli decide you wish to remain behind in Erebor… that is your choice. I will not force you to go with me."

He shared a glance with his brother and then looked back with a nod. "Thank you for that."

"Out of curiosity, Uncle, just where are you planning to go?" Fíli asked.

Thorin glanced at Dáin and Dwalin. "Mahal said to look for my destiny where the peaks are always white, and Dáin has said there are dwarves living in the White Mountains. I think that is where the Maker meant for me to go."

"A whole kingdom of 'em," Dáin put in. "Got themselves a good king and a fine princess in Dwarrowvale."

Kíli frowned. "I thought you said those White Mountains settlements had been abandoned centuries back?" he queried.

"I thought they were, as it was what I had been told," Thorin replied. "Either our information was wrong or our kin in the south have become adept at keeping to themselves. I thought we had all gone west and east when we fled from the dragon. I never thought of going south. Dáin said some of Erebor's people took up residence there after Smaug came, but most have returned to the mountain in the last four years. I am not likely to be recognized in Dwarrowvale, so it is an ideal place to go."

His uncle stood then, and with a faint smile added, "But before I go south, I plan to go west. I should like to pay a visit to our burglar."


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks, as always, to my rockstar reviewers - CherryBlossomTime, Aranel Mereneth, Eryn, MiyonzMae, and Celebrisilweth. And thank you to my latest favoriters/followers - Heart of Noir, Childatheart28, Neewa, and reach4theskye!**

 **Sorry this one's a bit of a filler chapter - I promise to get things moving soon. But these scenes popped into my head and demanded to be included in the story!**

* * *

 **14\. Foreshadowing**

* * *

Kíli and his brother were up half the night.

Over a pitcher of ale—and a plateful of cookies—they'd pinched from the kitchen, they sat together in his room on the floor in front of the fireplace. He and Fíli groused about their uncle keeping their memories from them and each admitted it was typical Thorin behavior where they were concerned.

Mahal may have been the one to suggest it, Fíli had pointed out, but Thorin was the one who'd chosen to actually do it. He could have made another choice and told them from the beginning, and he didn't. It was hard not to be angry with him even if he had believed he was acting in their best interests.

Kíli also shared with Fíli what had happened during his visit to the nether-realm to save Tauriel, and how he had assumed the father of her child was an elf. His brother had been quiet for a moment, then asked if he felt any better about the situation now that he knew he had already known.

"It doesn't hurt any less to know I can't be with her, and actually seeing her with Bard is like to give me fits for a while," he confessed. "But as I said to both her and to Tilda, it matters more to me that she is happy than it does who brings her that happiness. I hate him for stealing her heart, but at the same time I'm grateful to Bard for saving it—if he hadn't, she'd have wasted away like _Amad_ did. I would not wish that on anyone."

"Except for Azog, maybe," Fíli suggested. "Or Bolg."

"Truly," he'd agreed. "The quick deaths they were given were much too merciful for all they'd done."

"I have to say," Fíli went on, "that I find it strange how we had basically just died ourselves, yet when you went into the nether-realm, nearly a year had passed for Tauriel."

"It _was_ strange to see her with child and know that it was a Tauriel from the future. But I think—and call me daft if you like—but I think time has little to no meaning in the nether-realm," Kíli said. "Plus, we must consider that the One has the power to bend time to his will, or so the stories say. I suppose because she needed encouragement in _that_ particular moment, that's why her parents and I were brought to that moment."

He took a drink of his ale then and laughed. "Is it not also strange that we are speaking of our own deaths as if it were a matter of course?"

Fíli chuckled. "Truly it is, but how else are we to discuss it? We know we died, spent time in the Halls of Waiting _and_ the Great Forge, and now we are reborn in Middle-earth."

He then cleared his throat and said, "Kee, I have a confession to make."

Kíli looked over at his brother, concern drawing his eyebrows together. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, really, it's just…" Fíli paused and drained his mug. "Well, I've just been thinking that… I'm kind of glad I'll never be king."

Surprise lifted his brow near to his hairline. "Really, brother?" Kíli asked.

Fíli nodded. "You heard Dáin—too much responsibility and politics in the job. Not only would I have been King of Erebor, but High King of the Seven Families. I'd've been responsible for the prosperity of all Dwarfdom, and… Well, I've always secretly thought it was way too much responsibility for one person to shoulder. I'd have had dwarf lords from other realms breathing down my neck all the time. No doubt they'd have demanded my first act as king to be selecting a wife that I might sire an heir of my own."

Kíli grimaced, then looked into his own near-empty mug and asked, "Do you think it possible that Thorin is secretly glad he'll never be king?"

His brother scoffed. "Not that he would admit to it, but yeah. I mean, he took responsibility for everyone because he had to. Because it was expected of him—it was the life he'd expected of and for himself. To know that the only person he's got to look out for now _is_ himself? That must be as though the world has been lifted from his shoulders."

They were silent for a time before Kíli asked, "Why do you think he wants to go see Bilbo?"

"I dunno," Fíli replied with a shrug. "Maybe to apologize for wanting him thrown from the ramparts?"

"Uncle wasn't in his right mind then. Bilbo knew that— _razâd_ , we all knew it. We were just too afraid to admit it to ourselves, I think. But he said we can't even tell the people we were closest to that we're alive again. Don't you think that should include the hobbit?"

"I might say yes if it weren't for the fact that the only hobbit that knows us is Bilbo, and we both know he's not a well-traveled fellow," Fíli said. "And you know the Shire's not often traveled by dwarves or men, so there's little chance of our being seen by anyone who'd recognize us."

Kíli turned to him. "Our? Us?"

Fíli sighed. "I think I'm going to go with him, Kee. Firstly, what is Erebor to me, really? It's a legend, an old story that our uncle used to tell us as children so we'd go to sleep at night. If Thorin—to whom that mountain meant everything—can walk away from it, then why not me? Besides, without _Amad_ here, what reason have I to stay?"

"What about me?"

"Kíli, you're a grown dwarrow, as we both pointed out earlier. You've got to make this decision for yourself," Fíli said. "Now, if you want to stay and very much want me to stay with you, I'll hang on a year or so until you've got your feet on the ground. But eventually I'll go. You've got to ask yourself this question: What reason do you have to stay here?"

Kíli scoffed, then tossed back the last of the ale in his cup and set it aside. He might have accepted that Tauriel would not be his and was pleased she was happy, but to have to see her and Bard together would be like pouring salt on an open wound. He realized he would be risking his sanity if he stayed here.

"I've got nothing to stay for," he said at last.

"Precisely," his brother said. "We've also got to look at it this way: Even if we chose to ignore the threat to ourselves, what about the threat to our people—our friends and our kin? If we stay in Erebor, not only are we targets but so are they. Those we care about could even be used against us. We can't ask them to brave a danger that only exists because we do."

"You know, that's something I'm failing to understand," Kíli said, looking over at his brother with a furrowed brow. "If our very existence is a threat to the people around us, does that threat not go wherever we do?"

"I suppose it does," Fíli said thoughtfully. "But I think it's a greater danger to flaunt ourselves out in the open, thereby drawing attention to ourselves, than it is to hide in plain sight."

"That's a good point, _nadad_."

"And just think, Kíli—without the pressure of having to conform to 'princely' behavior," his brother continued with a grin, "we can do whatever we want whenever we want to do it. I, for one, am looking forward to having absolutely no expectations placed on me."

 _No expectations_ , Kíli mused. _Sounds good to me_.

 **-...-**

The next morning, though he'd gotten to sleep late, Kíli was up as the day was dawning. After a quick bath he dressed, having decided he would stop moping around and join the others for breakfast.

He nearly ran into Tilda in the hallway. "Good morning, Princess," he greeted her with a nod.

Tilda smiled. "Good morning. How are you feeling, Master Kíli?"

Kíli gave her a fleeting smile. "Better," he said, "with no small thanks to you."

Color rose in her cheeks and she cast her eyes down demurely. "You are quite welcome."

"A bit like my _amad_ you were, actually," he went on, "blunt and yet gentle. Guess that's just what I needed—that and Thorin letting us in on everything."

Tilda's color deepened to crimson and she continued to stare down at the floor. She cleared her throat and muttered a greeting to Fíli as he was coming out his door, hurriedly brushing past them.

Fíli whirled on him after she'd gone. "What did you do?"

Kíli frowned. "Nothing! I only said she reminded me of _Amad_ last—"

His words stopped abruptly when his brother raised a hand to slap him upside the back of his head. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

"Kee, sometimes you can be really thick," Fíli replied. "You never—and I mean _never_ —tell a female she reminds you of your mother."

"It was a compliment, for Mahal's sake! All I said was that she was blunt yet gentle like _Amad_ and that maybe I'd needed that. What's so wrong with that?"

Fíli shook his head. " _Naddith_ , I repeat: You never tell a female she reminds you of your mother. You may think the comparison a compliment, but to her it's the kiss of death."

Blinking, Kíli said, "Now you've lost me."

His brother growled softly and shook his head, muttering "Like I said, _thick_ ," under his breath. With a huff, Fíli looked to him and said, "It is clear that your experience with the fairer sex is limited. When a lady hears the words 'like my mother', her immediate interpretation is that you don't find her desirable."

"I _don't_ find Tilda desirable, Fee. She's pretty, yes, but she's just a child."

"Who by the laws of her kin will reach majority in just three years. Do you not recall her saying Sigrid married at eighteen? She's at the age, little brother, when daughters of Men start wanting males to find them attractive."

How his brother could possibly know that when his own sexual education was limited to a brothel worker was beyond Kíli's understanding. With a shake of his own head, he asked, "Fee, what's that got to do with me? Even if Tilda were of age, I'm of no mind to be considering her or any other female. Or do _you_ not recall that I only in the last week learned that the one I love has given herself to another?"

With a roll of his eyes and another shake of his head, Kíli moved past his brother. "And you say I'm thick," he mumbled as he went.

Fíli watched him go for a moment, then sighed and followed…wondering when his little brother was going to take his blinders off.

 **-...-**

Thorin was pleasantly surprised—and greatly relieved—to see Kíli come down to breakfast. Blowing up must've been just the thing to snap him out of the funk he'd been in.

 _That and your confession_ , snapped Dís' voice in his mind. _They had a right to their memories_ , nadad.

 _I know_ , he thought, then smiled ruefully at his little sister's ability to shame him, even in death.

"Uncle, we've something to tell you," Fíli said as he sat next to him.

His nephew flashed a smile at Tilda as she set a plate of food down before each of them. He found it a little strange that she did not return the gesture—she'd worn a smile every day that they'd been here. Even on the dark days, when Dís had died and when she'd been laid to rest, the young princess had offered the kindness of a smile.

Turning his attention to Fíli, he asked, "What do you wish to tell me?"

His nephews glanced at one another, then Fíli looked back and said, "Kee and I discussed our situation at length last night, and we've decided to go with you."

A great sense of relief washed over Thorin on hearing those words. He would have kept his word to them if they'd desired to stay, but could not be more pleased that he would not be breaking the promise he'd made to their mother on her deathbed.

In a deeper recess of his mind, he acknowledged he was pleased that he would still have their company. In part because they were kin and he was glad he would have family along on this journey, but also because he had never truly been on his own before. He'd traveled in solitude, yes, but never had he been responsible only for himself in the long term.

It was a daunting prospect, and one he was glad he would not have to face.

"We're still angry, Thorin," Kíli was saying as Bard came into the dining room. "Make no mistake of that. But Fee and I agreed that we're not of a mind to be putting our kin in danger. If our going away and living anonymously amongst strangers is what's best for them, then so be it."

Tilda served Bard a plate, then turned to leave. "Are you not joining us, dearest?"

She looked back with a shake of her head. "No, Da, I'm not hungry."

Her father reached out and grasped her hand. "Are you feeling all right? Do I need to send for a healer?"

"Don't worry about me, Da. I'm fine. Just still tired, is all. I'm going back up to rest some more and will grab something later."

Bard frowned. "If you're certain," he said, to which she nodded before exiting the dining room. He looked after her for a moment before turning round to his plate with a shake of his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin noticed Fíli elbowing his brother in the ribs. Kíli responded in kind, then tucked into his food. He could only wonder what that was about.

"My Lord," Thorin said to Bard, who appeared surprised by his use of the address, "you and your wife will be relieved to know you shall not have to shelter us much longer. I expect my sister-sons and me to be departing within two days, at best."

Bard looked back with surprise. "Is that so?" he queried.

Thorin nodded. "The month is near half-over and soon winter will be upon these lands. If we wish to survive a mountain crossing, we'll have to leave soon, before the snows are too deep."

"You intend to head west, then?"

"Uncle has decided to pay a visit to Bilbo before heading to the White Mountains," Fíli spoke up.

The man's face alighted with surprise. "I would advise approaching him with caution," he said slowly. "He did not take your death well."

Drawing a breath, Thorin said, "Thank you for the warning. We will endeavor not to give the hobbit a heart attack."

"Where's Tauriel?"

The two turned their attention to Kíli at his question. "She is at the soldiers' barracks, Master Kíli," Bard replied. "We've a number of new prospects for the regiments and she's gone to put them through their paces. She and Lucanío, who remains in the care of Sigrid at present, will return home for the midday meal."

"Do you truly leave the training of your soldiers to her?" Thorin asked.

Bard looked back to him. "Tauriel is a skilled warrior, Thorin, who has wielded blade and bow longer than either of us has been alive. Though I have also aided with training on occasion, when my schedule permits, I am more than confident with leaving the majority of the duty in her capable hands."

He snorted then, as if recalling something amusing. "It was either give her an occupation or commit myself to misery—Tauriel is not one who does well with being idle when she can be useful. She vowed before we wed she would not just sit and cower in the manor keeping up hearth and home."

Thorin snorted. "It is a female's duty to maintain the home," he said.

"Only if she has no other occupation, _Irak'adad_ ," Fíli pointed out. "And even then, most dwarrow dams divide their time between home and crafts."

" _Amad_ was a master weaver," Kíli added. "In the Blue Mountains she was the leader of a team of dams who made all sorts of textiles for various uses. Would you have rather she'd just stayed home cooking and cleaning and looking after the three of us?"

As he'd been taking a drink just then, Thorin nearly choked at the absurdity of such a notion—Dís had been a strict taskmaster on her _good_ days, and even though they'd had their own housekeeping staff, she never let him or her sons hear the end of it if they were sloppy. Both of his nephews laughed at the surely frightened expression that had come to his face.

"Are you mad?" he countered. "I was _glad_ she had taken a liking to a craft that required she be away for much of the day!"

"And she was only your sister," Bard said with a grin. "Imagine having a wife with a forceful personality. Besides, we've a truly wonderful housekeeper with three equally wonderful assistants that are paid well for their work. It frees both Tauriel and I for seeing to the running of the kingdom and the raising of our son."

Thorin inclined his head. "As a man in such a position as yours, you should be free for those duties. Amongst my people the role of queen would be largely ceremonial. Fíli's wife, when he took one, would have dedicated herself to some charitable cause and the organization of state affairs such as grand feasts. She would be required to be learned in the skills of weaving, sewing, and court behavior."

"Basically, she would have to be pretty and demure, and likely a dullard to boot," Fíli grumbled. "I would prefer a lady with spirit to a mouse."

Looking over, Thorin tamped down on the emotion that rose in his chest and said, "Well, by the grace of Mahal you shall have your chance to find your spirited lass."

"What about you, Thorin? Now that you're no longer burdened with reclaiming your kingdom, might you also look for a bride someday?"

Fíli and Kíli's guffaws were louder than before; Thorin scowled darkly in their direction before turning to Bard to say, "I should think not. I am far too old for such youthful pursuits."

Bard chuckled and shook his head. "I thought the same thing once," he said. "And just look at me now—married and a father again. I'd not discount the possibility that some lass might catch your eye before you're in your grave a second time, Master Dwarf."

 _Not likely_ , Thorin thought as he returned his attention to his breakfast, steadfastly ignoring the sniggering of his nephews.


	15. Chapter 15

**First, I apologize that this chapter took me so long to post. My Muse took an abrupt vacation and without her I can't seem to keep my head in the game. Hopefully I'm not hitting a slump - don't need to go through one of my depression lows just when the story is really about to get going. When that happens, it can be days or weeks of no writing, and I don't want that!**

 **Thanks of course goes out to my Rockstar Reviewers - Nenithiel, readergirl4985, MiyonzMae, Robinbird79, Aranel Mereneth, MDawn, RuinofDarkness, CherryBlossomTime, and Eryn. You all were awesome to leave me some encouraging words. Thanks also to Selene Tyler, Dark Hunteress25, and Samantha Sledge, who chose to follow and/or favorite the story!**

* * *

 **15\. Moments Alone**

* * *

Dwalin had spent most of the last week walking around in a mental fog.

He performed his duties as Lord Commander of the King's Guard no less efficiently than always, but what he knew—that he could share with no one—weighed heavily on his mind, in part because he was still stunned. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were _alive_. Four years he had been mourning their loss and then suddenly they were back, a new life granted because the Maker had plead for their return.

It was a mystery to him how their being back would thwart the Dark Lord's plans if Thorin intended to go into hiding, but surely Mahal knew what he was doing. Perhaps there was something about their new destinies he had kept to himself.

There was also the fact that he could tell no one—not even his brother—and that bothered Dwalin. Surely Thorin knew that Balin could be trusted to keep their presence a secret. As they shared an apartment, it was not even a full day gone by that Balin had noticed something was on his mind. He had noticed, as had others, that he and Dáin had been spending a lot of time in Dale, and had been seen in the company of three dwarves who refused to show their faces.

He'd never liked keeping things from his older brother, but he had given Thorin his word. Thankfully Balin didn't press beyond that first query.

On top of his reeling from the miracle of their return and the secrecy surrounding that event was the loss of Dís. Like a sister she had been to him, so vibrant and full of life. A force of nature she'd often been called, for she suffered no fools, led with a firm hand, and was fierce in her love for her family. If only the rebirth of her sons, whose loss had led to her wasting away under the weight of her grief, could have revitalized her fragile body.

He shook his head to dispel the morose thoughts as he stepped inside Dáin's office. The king was bent over his desk signing some document or other, Ori standing quietly at his side.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ori said when Dáin at last dropped his quill into the inkpot and handed over the parchment. "I'll see to it that a messenger carries this to Lord Fane straight away."

Dáin grunted and reached for the cup on his desk, likely filled with ale or mead. Ori smiled as he approached the door, by which Dwalin still stood. "Lord Commander," he greeted him politely.

"Lord Scribbler," Dwalin returned with a straight face. Each member of Thorin's Company had been granted a fancy title in recognition for their part in reclaiming Erebor—Ori, as the kingdom's chief scribe, was Lord Scrivener. The Company and even Dáin had taken to calling him—as a joke, and only in private—Lord Scribbler, as he could more often than not be found in the library bent over parchments, his quill in hand.

Ori considered it an honor that they ribbed him so, as he had once been considered the weakest of the Company but had proved himself as fierce as any warrior.

When the scribe had gone Dwalin approached the desk. "I've seen to Thorin's provisions and have a pony set aside for him," he said.

Dáin nodded. "Did ye see to supplies for the lads as well?"

He nodded. "Aye, just in case they decide to go."

"And yours?"

Dwalin frowned. "Mine, sire?"

"Well, yer going with that lot, aren't ye?" Dáin asked.

For a moment he was stunned. "I had not considered it," he lied.

"Bollocks, of course ye have," Dáin said, pushing to his feet.

"Dáin, I am the commander of your guard—I go where my king goes," Dwalin said as the other dwarrow came around his desk.

"And yer king is leaving on a journey to the west," Dáin pointed out. "Look, Dwalin, I appreciate that ye took on this job when I knew yer heart weren't in it. Ye've done a mighty fine turn in the position. But I know ye've always wished it were Thorin wearing the crown and not me."

"I…" Dwalin began, his words halting when the king held up his hand.

"Don't bother trying to deny it, lad. I hold no ill-will against ye for continued loyalty. There are times I've wished he'd lived, and there've been moments in the last seven days I have found myself hoping that he'd come back to take over, to be the king he was meant to be."

Dáin sighed then. "But he's determined to do as the Maker bid him, and I cannae fault 'im for that. I also cannae fault ye for wanting to go with one brother since ye aren't allowed to tell the other one he's even here. And if that _lalkhûn_ tries to make ye stay, ye tell 'im it was yer king's command."

It was true—he had been thinking he would go with Thorin from the moment he said he wasn't staying. He _was_ loyal, perhaps to a fault, and Dáin knew it. How on Arda he was going to explain this to Balin without spilling the beans…

"Come, let's get our arses moving," Dáin said as he made his way to the door. "I've got ta tell me wife I'm off to Dale again for another 'trade negotiation' and ye've got to get packed—and figure out how ta tell yer brother you're leaving."

Dwalin shook his head as he followed his kinsman out of the office, wondering how he'd come to know him so well.

 **-...-**

"If you think I'm going to give you a weapon, dwarf, you are mistaken."

Kíli turned sharply at the sound of Tauriel's voice. She stood in the doorway to his room dressed much the same as when he had first seen her, with a couple notable exceptions: though the cloth was the same greens and browns from four years ago, he could see chain mail under her traveling coat, and where she'd worn leather armor before there was now plated steel bearing the sigil of Dale. At her waist were her fighting knives and a quiver of arrows, her bow in her left hand.

In her right she held a sword, one that he was very much surprised to see. He'd lost that sword in Mirkwood, when she and the Guard had captured the Company. Her words were those she had said upon first meeting him, when he'd asked for a dagger to defend himself from the giant spiders.

They'd come full circle.

"Actually, on second thought, you are not," she added with a smile as she stepped further inside. "The Company's possessions were handed over before the eve of the Men's new year back in '41. Dáin gave this to me in memory of you."

Though he took the heavy steel in hand when she offered it to him, looking at it and remembering those days gone by, Kíli said to her, "If it is a memento, you should keep it."

"What need have I for a memento when the one for which I'd keep it is alive and well?"

He looked up and for a long moment stared into the vibrant green of her eyes. "Thank you," he said at last.

"You're quite welcome," she replied. "I know that Dáin is providing you all with weapons, but I thought you might like to have that."

Tauriel sighed then, looking toward the window as she bit her lip. Kíli waited patiently for whatever she had to say.

"I know that things have been awkward for you these last several days," she began. "And I know you are leaving not because of me but because you must; still, it is my hope that someday you might think of me as a friend."

"I will have you in my life in whatever way I can," he replied. "You are too important to me to simply be dismissed just because of a little thing like your being married to someone else."

She looked at him then, her expression thoughtful. "I know such is not on your mind, Kíli, given you've been aware of my circumstances only a week, but I truly hope that someday not only will your heart find peace, but a love to lift you up and support you as Bard's does for me."

Before he could even begin to formulate a response to that, Tauriel drew a breath and said, "I will meet you out front with the others, as I've got to go to the kitchen and see that our travel food has been prepared."

With that she bowed her head and left as quickly as she'd arrived. Kíli was left staring after her, the sword in his hand the only proof that she'd actually been there.

 **-...-**

Fíli found Tilda in the kitchen, filling a basket with food. Glad to have a moment alone with her, he'd not even the chance to open his mouth before she spoke.

"Tauriel and Ellairë are to escort you through to the western border of Mirkwood," she said as she arranged fruits, bread, and dried meats. "Tauriel said she's already notified Lord Thranduil by messenger falcon that they and three dwarves will be passing through, so you should not run into any of the Guard."

"Yes, I know," Fíli said with a frown. He noted that the princess had not once looked up from her task as she spoke—in fact, she'd not once looked directly at him or his brother since yesterday after Kíli's "compliment." Two things were clear: One, her feelings had been hurt. Two, it was up to him to make things right because Kíli hadn't even understood what he'd done wrong.

 _Make that three things_ , he thought after a moment of studying her profile. If Tilda was this bothered by the comment, then she had more than wanted her appearance to be noticed. In the last week, despite Kíli having spent three days holed up in his room, she'd somehow become quite smitten with him.

A new lady to focus on would do wonders for his brother. If only he were open to the idea…

"Give him a few years," he said suddenly. "I'm sure Kíli will come around."

"And I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about, Master Fíli," she returned.

Fíli stepped around the island counter to stand beside her, stilling her movements when he placed his hand over hers.

"I think you do, Princess," he said softly. "I know the signs—Kee was the same way about Tauriel when we were holed up in the mountain."

Tilda looked over at last. "You think I fancy your brother, who is still in love with my stepmother?"

She laughed and shook her head as she finished filling the basket. To Fíli, it sounded forced.

"Even if that were true—which it is not, you should know—by the time he gets over her, I might well be married."

"I should hope not, my Lady," Fíli said. "With all that's happened, Kíli's brain hasn't caught onto the fact that you're the only female besides our mother that's ever been able to immediately calm him when he's angry. I can't help wondering if that means something."

Tilda stared unblinking for a long moment. She had just parted her lips to speak when an armor-clad Tauriel entered the room.

"Oh, wonderful. Thank you, Tilda," she said.

Fíli stepped back as Tilda cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes. Plenty of fruit, lembas, and dried meat to last you all three days."

"Just three days?" Fíli asked, trying for a light, humorous tone.

"Enough to get us through the woods," Tauriel explained. "You and your kin may certainly hunt small game if you like should you desire fresh meat, but once we reach the west gate, you'll be on your own. I'm certain Dáin will be offering further supplies in the way of food so you won't starve yourselves to a second death once you are."

Fíli chuckled as he offered a nod. "Understood, my Lady."

 **-...-**

"What is this?" Thorin asked as he eyed the young tree. "Why are we here?"

Bard's gaze moved from him to the sapling. "I thought you might like to see something of Bilbo's he left behind. You can tell him the promise is being fulfilled."

"What promise?"

Reaching out to touch one of the leaves, Bard said, "There was a moment in the battle in which my hope and that of Gandalf began to wane, and we despaired that all would be lost. Then suddenly Bilbo, that strange little fellow, pulled from an inner pocket an acorn and got down on his knees to dig a hole for it. When I asked his purpose he said it was a promise, that underneath all the blood and dirt was the chance for new life—because when faced with so much death, what could anyone do but go on living."

Thorin blinked. He remembered vaguely Bilbo holding in his palm an acorn he'd picked up in Beorn's garden, saying he planned to carry it back to the Shire and plant it in his own. He recalled having said it was a "poor prize", to which the hobbit had replied that "One day, it'll grow", and that when it did he would look upon it and remember his journey—the bad times as well as the good—and be thankful he'd made it home.

Reaching a hand out, he allowed his thick fingers to trail through the leaves. "Bilbo carried that acorn many days, intending to plant it in his own garden. It must have been a dire moment for you all that he would give up something that meant so much to him."

"Indeed it was," Bard said. "But his message got through. Gandalf and I found ourselves renewed of purpose, and it was not long after, I believe, that Bilbo went to warn you all at Ravenhill of the coming of the second army."

At that, Thorin found his gaze drawn upward. Over the tops of the houses of Dale the Lonely Mountain loomed, and though he could not see it from where he stood, he knew precisely where the ruin of Ravenhill was located.

There his nephews had lost their lives. There his entire bloodline had met its end, their destinies forever altered.

"My entire life, I had but one path laid before me," he said as he stared toward the mountain. "My father would be king after his father, and I would be king after him. Even in exile we did not sway from that course.

"But now that path is gone, and an unknown future lies before me. I am…troubled by it, for who am I if not the king?"

Beside him, Bard drew a breath. "I think the answer to that question lies at the end of this new path you are set to follow. Your maker gave you a clue—it is up to you to solve the puzzle."

Thorin scoffed as he looked up at him. "I can tell you've spent too much time in the company of a certain meddling wizard. Like him, you've taken to speaking in riddles."

His companion laughed. "Well, whether my own or Gandalf's by proxy, the words are no less true. Come now, I suspect it is about time we get back, that you may get started on that journey."

 **-...-**

When he finally made his way outside, Kíli was surprised to see four horses standing ready.

"You don't expect us to ride those, do you?" he asked.

Fíli and Tauriel both laughed and Ellairë grinned as she patted the neck of a chestnut mare. "Certainly not," Tauriel replied. "Two of these Ellairë and I will ride, the others belong to Magnus and Bard, who will accompany us to the border of the wood."

"You should get going, I think," spoke up a strangely quiet Tilda. "You're to meet Da and Thorin at the gate, and I believe you're to meet Dwalin in the valley to get the dwarves their ponies."

"You are right, _iell nín_ ," Tauriel acknowledged, then stepped up to the girl and embraced her. "I shall see you in about a week. Do look after Lucanío for me—I know he'll be terribly upset I did not say goodbye to him."

Tilda grinned briefly. "I'll just have to tell him his _nana_ is on a secret mission with his new dwarf friends to satisfy him."

Tauriel laughed as they parted. "Oh yes. Your brother does love his adventure stories. I'll have to come up with a few embellishments to tell him when I get back."

Fíli stepped up to Tilda next, and Kíli watched as surprise lit her face when his brother also gave her a hug. "Remember what I said earlier, my Lady," he told her as he stood back, then leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

Kíli frowned when he realized that the gesture bothered him. It shouldn't.

Tilda then turned to him and bowed her head. "Goodbye, Master Dwarf."

When she made to move past him he snagged her sleeve. In part because he wished to speak with her and make amends for his slight, even though he still didn't quite understand why the comparison had bothered her so…and in part because as she passed the faintest of breezes carried to him the same sweet scent that she'd left on the collar of his jacket the other night, and he found it pleasing on a level he was not yet prepared to define.

"Princess, forgive me," he said. Looking into her eyes he found a wariness there, but she was listening. "I do not wish to part from you under such circumstances—I would rather your opinion and memory of me be pleasant. So I am truly sorry that my intent to compliment you went awry and you were offended."

She blinked once. Twice. And then she heaved a sigh and nodded. "I should not have taken offense, as you meant only to praise. Do not fret, Master Dwarf. There is nothing to forgive."

Tilda then leaned over and placed so light a kiss to his cheek he wasn't even sure her lips had actually touched his skin. "Do take care of yourself, Kíli. I wish you all the luck in the world on your journey."

She then quickly ascended the steps to the manor and hurried inside. Kíli stared after her for a moment, and then joined his brother and the two elves and started the march toward the city gate.

So what if he looked over his shoulder a time or two…


	16. Chapter 16

**To my Rocktar Reviewers - Nenithiel, Betty, Aranel Mereneth, readergirl4985, RuinofDarkness, MDawn, SethadoreVGC, and IsabelleBrown - as always, I thank you.**

 **To Marg1780 and Erisuu - thank you for favoriting/following!**

 **And my apologies for the lateness of this delivery. Once again my Muse has been slightly uncooperative, but I managed to finally wrangle this chapter together.**

* * *

 **16\. The Journey Begins**

* * *

Thorin and Bard met his nephews and the two elves at the city gate. When the great double doors were opened the former dwarf king took a deep breath, for he knew the next step he took was truly the first taking him toward his new destiny.

Dwalin and Dáin could be seen coming toward them from the mountain with four pack-covered ponies in tow. As soon as his group crossed Dale's bridge and met the duo, Thorin inquired about the fourth pony.

"That one is mine," Dwalin answered. "I'm going with you."

Thorin's eyes widened. "I appreciate the offer, my friend, but you cannot go with us. You are Lord Commander of the King's Guard. Your duty is to your king."

Dwalin's gaze captured his and held it. "You were always my king. You used to know that once."

Those words were familiar. Spoken in the midst of his madness, they were, by a dwarf desperate to make his king see reason. Now, he knew, they were said to ensure he knew where that dwarf's loyalty lay.

"I go where my king goes," the other dwarrow went on. "More than that, Thorin, you were always as a brother to me. I cannot—I _will_ not—let you go off on your own without protection again."

"You may not wear the Raven Crown, cousin," Dáin added, "but you are still a king among dwarves. I would have our best warrior at your side to look after you."

He was about to fire back that he was not in need of looking after until Dwalin's words sunk in—had he not gone after Azog in a fit of rage over Fíli's death, or at least taken Dwalin along with him…

There was no sense in dwelling on "ifs", Thorin mused darkly, though he knew it would be some time yet before he and the boys could stop doing it. After a moment he held his hand out, and his kinsman clasped his forearm in traditional fashion. "I would be honored to have you by my side again, cousin. You are most welcome."

"We must get going if we are to make it to our first rest point by nightfall," spoke up Tauriel.

"Not to mention our party is drawing curious eyes from the mountain," observed Ellairë. "No doubt King Dáin will face many questions upon his return."

Dáin glanced over his shoulder and Thorin followed his gaze. There was a small gathering of dwarves—most of them armored—standing round at Erebor's gate. Thankfully they were too far away for any of them to discern his or his nephews' identities. "I'd not worry about that lot," said Dáin. "They'll mind their own or they'll find themselves exiled to the Orocarni."

Goodbyes were said then, with Dáin exacting a promise he would receive a letter every once in a while to let him know how they fared. Thorin agreed as he mounted his pony, a young black stallion, and when the others followed, Dáin gave a salute and then turned toward the mountain.

"Come, let us begin," Thorin said after a moment, and turned his mount toward the woods.

 **-...-**

Three days it took them to reach the western border of Mirkwood. Thorin sighed with relief when they passed the edge of the wood late on the third day, the sun long ago having gone down. Though Tauriel had assured him there would be no interference from the Guard to which she and her companion had once belonged, he had not at all trusted Thranduil to keep his word to her.

No other elves had shown themselves during their passage, but there was no doubt in his mind that they had been followed the entire way through.

Due to the lateness of the hour, Tauriel and Ellairë made camp with them one final time, and in the morning as they were all packing up, he grudgingly turned to her to say a few words.

"You have my gratitude for seeing us through your homeland," he said. "The passage was much more pleasant than when last we came through here."

Fíli snorted. "Yeah, no getting lost this time."

"And no having to carry a sleeping Bombur," Dwalin added.

Tauriel shared a glance with Ellairë and the two grinned. "The enchanted stream is one reason I offered to guide you. The other is that Lord Thranduil decreed no one should travel through the wood without an Elven escort, even on known paths. Sadly, though the forest is greener and brighter these days, darkness still plagues it in the form of orcs and goblins that pass through here."

Thorin nodded and turned toward his pony as Kíli stepped forward. "Ellairë, I've been trying the last three days to figure out a way to bring this up without upsetting you, but I've come up empty."

Ellairë raised an eyebrow. "Bring what up?" she asked.

Kíli cleared his throat. "We met your sister in the Halls of Waiting," he replied, and the elf's eyes widened. "Ellúrien said you were the one person in all of Middle-earth that she loved beyond reason. I hope it brings you some measure of comfort to know her thoughts were of you."

Ellairë wiped away a tear that had slid down her cheek, a smile slowly turning up the corners of her lips. "Thank you so much for that, Master Dwarf. It is a great comfort indeed."

The party of six then climbed onto their respective mounts, and after giving each other a customary salute, turned in opposite directions to go on their way.

The four dwarves had been traveling for about an hour when Fíli said, "We ought pass Beorn's place in a while, hadn't we?"

Thorin glanced around. "Yes, in another hour or so, I should think."

"Have you a mind to stop there?" Dwalin asked.

"I've no intention…" he started to reply, even as an idea occurred to him. He was not one given to sentimentality, but once the thought passed through his mind, he could not deny he had to go through with it.

"I wish to be across the river before the sun reaches its zenith," Thorin went on. "So the answer would be no."

Dwalin seemed to accept that and no more was said. They were passing the path to Beorn's farm and were in sight of Carrock—which indeed had a bridge now, as Bard had reported—when suddenly Thorin pulled his pony to a stop. "The three of you go on. I will meet you on the other side of the river," he said.

"I thought you weren't planning to stop here, Uncle?" Fíli queried.

"I'm not," Thorin replied. "I've only a mind to pick up one thing from the garden. I will meet you on the other side of the river."

Giving them no chance for further comment, he turned the black pony back around toward the path leading to Beorn's homestead. He hoped that the skinchanger was either out or in a pleasant mood—preferably out, as meeting with him would defeat the purpose of keeping those who knew of his return to a minimum.

His memory served him well and he found the place easily enough. There was no sign of the man who lived here, much to his relief, and he dismounted quickly. Quick steps carried him over to the garden whereupon finding precisely what he wished he could not help the grin that crossed his face. Thorin reached for one of the many oak nuts that littered the ground, straightening slowly as a very large shadow loomed behind him, completely obliterating his own within.

"Give me one good reason, dwarf, why I should not take your head," said a deep, gravelly voice with which he was familiar.

Thorin slowly held his hands out from his sides, the acorn in his open palm. "Forgive me, sir. I wished only to pick up a gift for a friend."

A long silence followed, and then, "So… Back from the dead, I see. However did you manage that, Thorin Oakenshield?"

He turned around slowly and looked up into the eyes of the property's owner. "Mahal plead for the rebirth of myself and my nephews," he said simply.

"Why?" Beorn asked. "For what purpose would Aulë seek to return you three and not one or more of the countless thousands of your kin who passed before you?"

Thorin sighed. "In truth I have no idea," he confessed. "I know only that we were told the Necromancer's resurrection of Azog altered our original destinies. Mahal wished to deny Sauron the deaths he wished for."

"He got what he wanted anyway. For four years the world has thought you dead."

Thorin stepped closer. "And it is best the dead remain so," he said. "Though you have no reason to respect my wish, I still must ask that you speak to no one of what you know. I ask not for myself but for my nephews, whose fates were altered irreparably by my choices, and whose new futures I would see protected for as long as possible."

Beorn studied him for a long moment before nodding curtly. "You'd best be on your way. Your companions await you at the edge of the forest." Thorin returned the nod and moved around him to the black pony. He mounted and hurried back along the path, at the end of which Dwalin and his nephews indeed awaited him.

"I thought I told you all to cross the river?"

"And I thought I told you I'd not let you go off unprotected again?" Dwalin countered.

"I went to a garden, Dwalin. Hardly a dangerous foray," Thorin said as he led them away from the wood.

"What did you get from Beorn's garden?" asked Kíli.

Thorin rolled the acorn between his fingers before slipping it into a pocket. "A gift," he replied.

 **-...-**

After midday on the second day of their journey, the four dwarves came to the foothills of the Misty Mountains. For the next week—or however long it took them to make the crossing—they knew they would have to be extra vigilant, for they were entering the domain of orcs, goblins, and trolls.

As they had crossed the wide swath of land between the Anduin and the hills, the journey had been peaceful. Kíli knew their luck would not hold—they were too close to Gundabad, not to mention most of the entire Misty Mountains chain had been claimed by orcs. Before they reached the other side, the vile beasts would no doubt make an appearance.

Thorin and the others must have felt the same, for each moved a hand to their closest weapon as they fell into line on the narrow path.

Kíli almost longed for a fight. It would take his mind off of things, like missing his mother. Like missing Tauriel.

Like his curiosity over a certain teenage girl. He'd found himself wishing he'd not moped in his room for most of his time in Bard's house and had instead spent it getting to know Tilda better. Perhaps then he'd have understood her curious behavior the last time he'd seen her.

Perhaps then he'd have understood his own, and why Fíli's cordiality toward the girl had bothered him so. Every time he thought of that kiss to her cheek, he would find himself scowling at his brother's back. When he realized what he was doing, he'd shake his head and chastise himself for being foolish; Fíli was just being a gentleman.

Snow began falling at a slow but steady pace later that afternoon. The precipitation continued over the next few days, on the third afternoon swelling into a blizzard that made it hard to see more than a foot ahead.

"We've got to find a cave!" Thorin yelled suddenly.

"Agreed," cried Dwalin. "We'll get as lost as a blind man in this storm!"

"How are we to find a cave when we can barely see each other?!" asked Fíli.

"Get off your pony and feel along the rock with your hands!"

Kíli was already in the process of doing just that, having dropped from his chestnut mare and heading over to the nearest granite wall with her lead in his hand. They had to find shelter soon or they were all going to die. Again.

Except for Dwalin and the ponies—this would be their only death.

They'd been at it for what seemed ages and Kíli's teeth had really started to chatter when he heard Dwalin yell "I think I've found something!"

He hurried as fast as he dared toward where the older dwarrow's voice had come from. "This rock!" Dwalin said, yelling in order to be heard over the roar of the wind. "It looks like it was placed here on purpose—there's an indentation behind it that could mean a cave!"

"If that is so, then it was done by orcs who will likely return!" said Thorin.

"Not in this mess, if they've even a lick of sense about them!" Fíli cried. "We've got to chance it, Uncle. We'll none of us survive in this!"

In response, Thorin moved to stand next to Dwalin; Kíli and Fíli followed suit, and together they were able to roll the boulder away from what was indeed the mouth to a cave. With the white-out swirling around them, however, there was no way to tell how deep it went. Kíli quickly stepped over to his pony and pulled a pre-made torch from one of his packs, yanking a knife free from its holster as he returned to his kinsmen. Holding the torch close to the stone wall, he scraped the knife against it in an attempt to draw a spark. On the third try it worked, and a moment later a flame spurted to life in the howling wind.

After returning the knife to its sheath, Kíli drew the sword Tauriel had returned to him and then stepped cautiously into the cave—the entrance they'd found being blocked didn't mean there wasn't another way in from the other side. Though the smell was stale and scented lightly of rot, he was relieved to find that it was a fairly wide cave that sloped downward and even widened toward the back, but there was no other way in or out save the one. The cave made a nice bolt-hole, a place where one could hole up in bad weather or simply spend the night when traveling long distances. There were a number of them back in the Blue Mountains where he'd grown up frequented by many a hunter or tradesman.

"All clear!" Kíli yelled as he walked back toward the cave opening. "There's room enough for the ponies at the back, too—come on inside."

They made quick work of guiding the ponies inside and relieving them of their packs. "I think we should roll the boulder back over the mouth of the cave," Thorin said when they were done. "Just enough that the wind is mostly blocked out."

"A good idea, Uncle," agreed Fíli. "The fire—once we have one—won't go out, and we'll stay mostly warm."

The four of them then trudged outside again, and with Kíli standing as guide, Fíli, Dwalin, and Thorin were able to push the boulder back into place just enough so they could slip past it one at a time. Once back inside, Dwalin took one of the small cords of wood he'd chopped before the weather went crazy and piled them in the center, using Kíli's torch to light it.

"A good thing you thought to cut that extra wood, Dwalin," the younger dwarf observed as he held his hands close to the flames to warm them. "Otherwise I think we'd be in dire straits about now."

"The weather can turn ugly quick in these parts, lad," Dwalin replied. "Least it does over 'round the mountain and Dale. When the snow didn't let up, I figured it would be best to be prepared."

Thorin clapped him on the shoulder. "And we are glad of your forethought, cousin. Let us hope, however, that we'll only have to stay in these…accommodations…for a night or two."

"A night or two" turned into five days and four nights. The dwarves huddled as close to each other and the fire as they could manage, doing more of the former as their supply of wood dwindled. Dwalin was able to stretch it by adding dung dropped by the ponies. They made what food they had last by eating only once a day, though water was never in short supply—they had only to reach through the opening and scoop up snow with a bowl to be melted over the fire.

Tempers soon flared with little room to maneuver and nothing with which to occupy their minds, but differences were quickly settled by Thorin whenever he barked a reminder of their circumstances. Still, Kíli was immensely relieved when the wild flurries began to lighten on the fourth day, indicating that by morning they might actually be able to get out of the cave and move on. He went to sleep late that night with the hope that the weather continued to clear.

He was stirred awake sometime later when one of the others prodded his shoulder. At first he pushed the hand away with a mumbled "Feck off" and rolled over, but was jostled fully awake when the offending family member grabbed hold of him and shook him roughly.

"What the hell—" he managed, before Thorin's hand clamped tightly over his mouth. His uncle held a finger to his lips to indicate he should remain silent, then pointed toward his weapons.

Kíli immediately understood. He was just picking up his bow when he heard the noise that had raised the others to alertness:

There were orcs outside the cave.


	17. Chapter 17

**Ah, my Rockstar Reviewers - SophiaRose, Robinbird79, MDawn, Celebrisilweth, readergirl4985, and Eryn - you never let me down. Thanks also to recent favoriters/followers for joining the ride of this (hopefully) epic tale!**

* * *

 **17\. Burdens**

* * *

Dwalin huddled near the entrance to the cave listening to the orcs' approach.

He noted with disgust that some were complaining of being hungry and tired. They had no true understanding of what it meant to be hungry and tired. Dwarves, on the other hand, knew all too well.

He flexed his fingers around the handles of Grasper and Keeper, relieved to have his favorite weapons with him. The twin axes were the first defensive tools he had crafted with his own hands, and they had served him flawlessly. Their return—along with the rest of the Company's confiscated weaponry—marked the first time he'd felt grateful to an elf. Everything the four of them were carrying on this journey they had carried on the last one. Kíli even carried the sword Dáin had gifted to Tauriel.

The only blade missing was Orcrist. Dáin had asked Thorin if he wanted the Elven-made sword back, to which he said no—it should remain where it was as a beacon of warning as intended.

Thorin approached him quietly after waking Kíli. "How many, do you think?" he asked in a whisper.

"'Tis a small party—ten or so," Dwalin replied.

Thorin's expression was grim. "If they aim to spend the day here, we are in trouble."

"What if we rush out and surprise them?" Fíli suggested.

"Surprise is our only advantage," Dwalin agreed. "If we wait for them to come to us we risk injury to ourselves and possibly loss of one or more of the ponies."

"That's if they don't trample us during the fight," Kíli mumbled as he stepped up to them.

Thorin cocked his ear toward the slim opening they'd left; they could all hear the orcs getting closer—seconds was all they had to come up with a plan.

"Kíli, you go through first—take out as many as you can with your bow," he said, looking to his nephew. "Dwalin, Fíli, and I will be out right behind you."

It was a solid, if not somewhat risky, plan: Their best archer would go out first and start firing, giving the rest of them time to move through the opening and join him. Leaving the boulder in place instead of trying to move it would save time and the ponies.

" _Come on, let's stop already—there's a cave right over there!_ " cried one of the approaching orcs. " _It'll be daylight soon!_ "

Kíli slid through the opening with his bow in hand, an arrow already nocked. The screeches of surprise from the orcs drowned out the sound of that first arrow hitting its target—for Dwalin knew he wouldn't miss. He stepped out next and in the split second he had to survey the scene, he noted two downed orcs in the deep snow with arrows sticking out of their heads; Kíli was already firing off his third.

" _Imridi_!" Dwalin screamed as he charged and met one burly orc halfway. His first swing was blocked by the beast's scimitar, but his second was quick in following and delivering death to his opponent. Down he went, the spurting of his black blood staining the pristine white snow.

Yanking Keeper from the orc's skull, he moved onto his next opponent. Thorin and Fíli ran past him with their swords drawn, yelling battle cries of their own and Kíli took down another orc with his bow. Dwalin had just made quick work of his third when a loud, pained cry had him swinging his head around.

Fíli had been thrown up against the side of the mountain and his right arm now hung limply at his side. The large orc that he'd been fighting laughed at the young dwarf, spittle flying from its twisted mouth. The laugh was abruptly cut short when Thorin pierced his sword through the creature's neck; he yanked it out quickly to turn and parry a thrust from another before spinning and turning to run it through as well.

By the time the quick fight was over, Kíli had taken out five of the twelve with arrows. Dwalin had cut down three, and Thorin and Fíli had killed two each. Still, it was enough to liven the four of them up and get their blood pumping. Kíli immediately set about collecting his spent arrows.

Thorin was examining Fíli's arm as Dwalin approached. "The humerus seems to be broken, I'm afraid," he pronounced grimly.

Fíli groaned in annoyance. The only indicator he was in pain was the pinched expression he wore. "Buggering orc—I had him until he threw me."

"Let's get this arm bound. Then we'll have breakfast and get going," Thorin said then, taking his nephew by the shoulder to guide him.

"Aye," Dwalin agreed as he eyed the lightening sky. "Sun's nearly up, may as well get the day started."

Kíli laughed. "I say we've already got this day started, Lord Commander," he said, eliciting a laugh from the others.

Inside the cave again, they used two of their last remaining sticks of firewood to create a brace for Fíli's arm. Kíli made a sling for him using cloth torn from one of the dead orcs' cloaks, and for the first time in nearly a week, they ate a hearty meal that included the last of their dried meat. Dwalin commented that he hoped they'd see some game along the path otherwise they'd have to resort to eating nothing but vegetables. His companions grimaced on hearing that.

After the meal, the ponies were packed up and Dwalin, Thorin, and Kíli rolled the boulder away from the cave's entrance. Once they were outside the ponies became skittish at the smell of death and it took some murmured Khuzdul to settle them enough to be mounted. After helping Fíli climb onto his pony Dwalin climbed up on his own, and then Thorin began leading the way forward. The ponies calmed completely when they could no longer smell the dead orcs and the ride was peaceful as they trudged through almost two feet of snow.

Dwarf and pony alike breathed deeply of the fresh, crisp air, grateful to be out of the cave at last.

 **-...-**

The afternoon of the fourth day of travel out of the cave at last saw them cresting the final hill—below them was a wide valley.

A very familiar valley, thought Dwalin, who looked over at Thorin. "Doesn't this area look familiar to you?" he asked.

Thorin studied the plain below, and recognition alighted on his face. "Indeed it does, cousin."

"Hey, we're near the Troll Shaws, aren't we? Where those three that wanted to eat us got turned to stone!" said Kíli excitedly.

"Think we can rest there for a bit then?" mumbled Fíli. "My arm is killing me."

Dwalin shared another glance with Thorin. The lad had had a miserable time of it on their way out of the mountains. A second examination by Thorin had showed them the grim reason why: his bones were not mending together properly. The ends had become misaligned and it was causing Fíli great pain. He'd had little appetite and less sleep over the last couple of days and his pallor had paled, the skin around his eyes taking on the bruised look of a dwarf who'd been in a brawl.

"Certainly Fíli," Thorin replied, then gave a kick to his mount to get it moving again.

Down in the valley they found and rode past the stone trolls, to which Kíli gave a jaunty salute, and made their way over to the cave where Thorin had discovered Orcrist and Nori and Glóin had buried a couple of chests of gold and jewels. They neither saw nor heard anything moving about, but Dwalin was still as cautious as ever on entering, Grasper in his hand, to check the place out as he had before.

"Nothing and no one," he reported as Kíli was helping Fíli to dismount.

Thorin gave a curt nod. "Let's get a fire going. We'll have some of that rabbit Kíli killed this morning."

The two thin cottontails were soon skinned and skewered over a small fire—it wasn't much, but it was fresh meat. Fíli dozed while they waited for it to cook, and Thorin called both Dwalin and Kíli to his side some feet away at the entrance to the cave.

"Fíli cannot continue to travel in this condition," he began. "The arm must be set properly or he may lose the use of it completely."

"Which will be of no use to himself or us if we encounter trouble on the road," Dwalin observed.

"But what can we do?" Kíli asked. "None of us is a trained healer…" His voice trailed off as he suddenly turned his head to the south. Dwalin looked to Thorin, whose expression fell to a grimace. He seemed to know what Kíli was thinking, but Dwalin was lost.

"Mind tellin' us what you're thinkin', lad?" he asked.

Kíli looked to Thorin and swallowed, before turning his eyes to him and saying, "Rivendell's not too far from here. I recall it being said that Elrond was a skilled healer—surely he can fix Fee's arm."

"We cannot go to the elves," Thorin said.

Kíli turned to him again. "Uncle, you just said Fíli could lose the use of his arm—"

"I said," his uncle interrupted him gruffly, "that _we_ cannot go."

He then looked to Dwalin, and understanding dawned on the younger dwarrow.

"Oh, but Dwalin can!" he cried softly. "That's an excellent idea, _Irak'adad_! He can go and talk Elrond into coming here. That way he's the only one that knows we're back… although I'd give anything to see Bronwë and Gilraen again."

"I'm sorry, Kíli," said Thorin. "I know the Ranger became something of a friend to you, but it is for the best that few—"

Kíli waved off his words. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. The fewer the people that know, the less we endanger. As much as I would enjoy having their company, I've no wish to put that burden on either of them."

Dwalin coughed to get their attention. "Are you forgetting something?" he asked. "I've never been one for talkin'—how in Durin's name am I supposed to convince a poncy elf lord to leave his pretty little valley to come here?"

Thorin clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "I'm sure you will think of something. Consider this your first mission for your king, if you like."

Dwalin snorted and headed for his pony. "I'd best get going then, if I want to reach Rivendell before dark."

 **-...-**

The sun was just beginning to set when Dwalin encountered a possible complication—or the means to his salvation, considering he was lost and not entirely sure he was going the right way. A small party of what looked to be Rangers was coming toward him from the northwest, and if he wasn't mistaken, Kíli's friend Bronwë was among them. On sighting him the group increased their pace, so Dwalin pulled his pony to a halt.

His suspicion proved correct moments later when they came to a stop a few feet away—Bronwë was indeed with them, and she greeted him warmly. "Master Dwalin! What a pleasant surprise to see you in these parts!"

Dwalin offered the young woman a nod. He recalled she had been pleasant enough company during his time in Rivendell, though she'd been rather reticent and only ever spoke in depth to Kíli or Fíli—mostly the former, which had led to some suspicion that they had formed an attachment. Kíli becoming smitten with Tauriel a few months later had put an end to that thought.

"Bronwë, where are your manners?" asked a male elf who shared a face with the fellow on the horse next to his.

The other brown-haired, blue-eyed elf grinned and said, "Indeed! Will you not introduce us to your friend?"

Bronwë rolled her eyes and Dwalin was forced to suppress a grin as she said drily, "Forgive me my lack of decorum. Might I introduce Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond; Ólchanar, son of Digaerin; and Ladrengil, son of Podrengil and brother to me by marriage."

Ah yes, he could see the family resemblance between the two elves and what he recalled of Elrond's features, Dwalin mused as he raised a hand to his heart and bowed his head in traditional fashion. "Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service." He then looked to the one who'd nodded his head when Bronwë gave the name Ladrengil and queried carefully, "I have met all of Mistress Bronwë's sisters—might I inquire as to which you are wed?"

Bronwë looked over her shoulder with a grin as Ladrengil laughed. "The lovely Taendis is my bride, and mother to my son, Halbarad."

Dwalin grinned and shook his head in amazement. By his recollection, Taendis—middle of the five sisters—had been a bookish little snob of a girl who, although a self-professed "student of history", turned her nose up at anyone who wasn't Elvish or Dúnedain. He wondered if marriage and motherhood had softened her personality.

"In fact," Ladrengil went on, "Little Halbarad is the reason our party returns to Rivendell, Master Dwarf—I much desired to celebrate his first birthday with him, which is tomorrow."

"And we desire to see our own wife," said one of the twins, "who is soon to bear a child."

 _Our_ wife? Dwalin thought with much curiosity. Did the twins share a bride? Hadn't Tauriel said years ago that Elves revered monogamous relationships as much as his own people did? Of course, for all he knew, theirs _was_ a monogamous relationship—even among dwarves, there was the rare case of a female taking two husbands, for the males each desired a wife and there were simply not enough dwarrow dams to go around. Such couplings were almost never heard of, though, given how much it went against ancient Dwarven culture—Dwalin himself had known only one such family unit in the Blue Mountains.

"Master Dwalin?"

Blinking, he looked up at Bronwë. "Forgive my wandering thoughts. What can I do for you?"

"I asked if your business was taking you by Rivendell and suggested we all might ride together for a time," said Bronwë.

His salvation they were indeed! he cheered inwardly, thankful he would not have to embarrass himself by asking for directions. "In fact it is Rivendell to which I am headed, my Lady. I have urgent business with your Lord there."

"Urgent, you say?" asked one twin.

"Then by all means, let us not waste another moment," said the other, and they were all moving again in seconds.

Dwalin rode beside Bronwë, who was silent for a time before she offered her condolences on the loss of Thorin and his nephews. It made him somewhat uncomfortable to hear her speak of them with such kindness as though they were still dead, and he wished he could have assured her they were well.

It soon became his turn to offer condolences, when she changed the subject to her own family and sadly spoke of the deaths of her mother and Neniel not a year after the battle. Dwalin recalled that the sister had been obsessed with Elrond's steward, and even as he was having that thought, Bronwë told him she had taken her own life because Lindir had rejected her. Her mother, the Ranger informed him quietly, had willed her own death in grief over her daughter's.

"I grieve with thee the loss of your kin, my Lady," Dwalin said softly.

 _The poor thing_ , he found himself musing as they fell into silence. Her life had seemed miserable before—spending months in the wild only to come home and be overwhelmed by her nigh-uncontrollable younger sisters—and was even more so now that she shouldered the burden of grief. For the first time ever, Dwalin found himself hoping that a daughter of Men would find true happiness. If anyone deserved it, it was Bronwë.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Imridi_ \- die (plural; Dwalin was including all the orcs in his battle cry)


	18. Chapter 18

**Readergirl4985, Celebrisilweth, MDawn, Robinbird79, and Eryn - you are my Rockstar reviewers for chapter 17! RuinofDarkness, thanks for your review of chapter 16, and big thanks to Fililover95 and xoulblade for favoriting/following the story!**

* * *

 **18\. The Beginning of Healing**

* * *

Rivendell had not changed.

It was no surprise to Dwalin, really, given the species of the main residents. _Elves and their magic_ , he mused sourly as he and the Rangers rode through the northern gate. There was no sign of the winter that surrounded the valley. The buildings remained tall and unblemished, the greenery perfect, the waterfalls lovely and enchanting. He almost hated the tranquility of the place—how could they not enjoy the noise of _life_? He'd been glad the Company had been banished to the Dúnedain halls after the fountain incident, for the Men there knew how to live.

It was where they led him first in order to stable their horses. Óchanar and Ladrengil then headed to the dining hall, the latter telling Bronwë he would inform her sisters she was tending to business. Bronwë simply nodded and indicated Dwalin should walk with her. Elladan and Elrohir had parted from their group earlier, which he assumed had something to do with the mysterious wife.

In spite of himself, he was curious, and as he and Bronwë headed toward the elves' buildings, he debated whether he should ask. It was really none of his business how they lived their lives, and it was not that he truly cared. But he'd always been a dwarf who hated to have an unanswered question floating around in his head. The wondering would drive him mad if he did not ask, not to mention distract him from his purpose.

"Er, Miss Bronwë—" he began.

"Yes, Master Dwalin?"

He raised a hand and scratched his tattooed pate. "The twins… One of them said something…"

Oh Mahal, he couldn't do it. _Curiosity be damned_ , he growled silently.

Bronwë surprised him by laughing. "You're itching to know about the 'our wife' comment, I suspect."

At his silent nod, she chuckled again. "Truly it is an unusual arrangement among elves, but it works for them. It is what makes them happy." She sighed, and was then silent so long he figured that was all the answer he would get.

"Elladan and Elrohir… They have always seemed more than simply two souls sharing the same face—those who know them best see them as one soul split between two bodies. They are so very much alike in the way they think that it came as no real surprise that they have chosen to love the same female. Given who their wife is, I think she needed two males to equal her for power."

"Who is this female?" Dwalin asked.

Bronwë looked over at him. "You do not know her. Ranárë was rescued by our company in the spring the year following your visit to these lands. She'd been fighting a pack of orcs and goblins all on her own when we came upon her."

Dwalin thought of the child that was mentioned and ventured to ask how they would know who the father was.

"Lord Elrond knew soon after Ranárë heard the child's song. Elladan is the father of this babe."

"And that doesn't bother the brother at all?"

His companion shrugged. "Why should it? They're both so in love with her it matters not to them which one sires her children, for they will both have a hand in raising them. Besides, Lord Elrond has foreseen that the next will come from Elrohir."

Dwalin cleared his throat then. "Forgive me asking questions it was not my business to know the answers to."

"Curiosity is nothing to be ashamed of, Master Dwarf, as Dan and Ro have so often told me," Bronwë replied as they approached the dwellings of the elves. "And it's not as if the twins didn't leave the metaphorical door wide open when they spoke of their wife."

Dwalin gave a nod of his head and said nothing more. Having the matter settled he could now concentrate on why he was here: How in the name of Mahal was he going to convince Elrond to leave with him—alone? It was no secret he did not like elves. Even after establishing a tenuous peace with Mirkwood, he still didn't trust the pointy-eared know-it-alls as far as he could throw them. Although Elrond had been decent enough to help them by reading the moon runes on the map last time round, he was still an elf. Could he really be trusted not to tell anyone about Thorin and the boys' return?

He mulled over and over how to broach the subject of why he had come as Bronwë led him into the main house. He walked with her to the library, his footsteps heavy and loud in the stillness of the hall. He knew elves required almost no sleep but they still kept fairly regular schedules, and this was the time of the evening that they tended to settle in for the night—his tread reverberated on the walls because there was absolutely no one about.

"Lord Elrond is usually here or in his study this time of night," Bronwë said as she reached for the door and pulled it open.

Thankfully the elf was indeed here, for he looked up from a book upon their entrance and stood. "Bronwë, it is always a pleasure to see you returned whole and hale, my dear," he said to the Ranger.

Then his piercing eyes fell on Dwalin; the dwarf lifted his chin and met his gaze.

"So we meet again, Master Dwalin. It is a pleasure also to see you whole and hale," Elrond said. "I have had word from Thranduil of Mirkwood that the restoration of Erebor goes well."

Dwalin snorted. "Figures that git would talk behind our backs."

Bronwë jabbed him with her elbow; seeing as she wasn't but a couple of inches taller than he, she caught him in the ribs. "Master Dwarf," she said, her voice reproachful, "we have heard naught but pleasant tidings from the east. King Bard and Queen Tauriel of Dale have also sent a number of letters, for Her Majesty spent several weeks here in the summer of '42."

Elrond looked between them, a faint smile on his lips. "I suspect a progress report on the reclaiming of the mountain is far from the reason for this visit."

He then gestured to the table at which he had been sitting. "Would you care to join me, Master Dwarf?"

Dwalin nodded and took a step forward, then stopped and looked to Bronwë. "Thank you for your assistance, Miss Bronwë. Sadly I must ask that you give us privacy, for I have been ordered to speak to none but Lord Elrond."

Though curiosity burned in her eyes, Bronwë nodded and turned immediately to go. After she had closed the door behind her, Dwalin looked to Elrond. "Are we truly alone here?"

Elrond nodded. "Indeed we are. I sense your business is urgent."

"It is. We have need of a healer, and frankly you were the closest one we knew of."

The elf's eyebrows rose. "Is Master Óin in the Great Forge now? And what of my former pupil, Laivindil—does she no longer reside in Dale as First Healer?"

Dwalin stepped closer as he replied, "No and yes she does. The person requiring your services is not in the east—he is just north of here in the Troll Shaws, in the cave where those Elven blades were found four years ago. We were in a fight with a pack of orcs about four days past as we crossed through the mountains and his arm was broken, but it is not healing properly and causes him great pain."

Elrond frowned. "Why did not the rest of your party—especially this injured fellow—travel with you? I would have treated him here."

"Because he is not supposed to be here. None of them are," Dwalin replied.

"I don't…" Elrond began to speak, then suddenly his eyes took on a far-off look. Dwalin frowned, wondering what was going on with him.

As suddenly as the dazed expression came it went, and Elrond looked to him with wonder in his eyes. "The King Under the Mountain has returned," he said as he stepped away from the table. "I have never heard of a single dwarf being reborn, let alone three."

Dwalin quickly gave to him the explanation Thorin had given when he confessed all that had transpired during his time in Valinor. Elrond nodded while stroking his chin with one hand.

"Yes… That would explain the vision I have just had," he murmured.

Foresight, Dwalin knew, was another of this elf's abilities. "What vision?"

Elrond turned to him. "Thorin standing in a great courtyard made by your kin, with Fíli and Kíli by his side. There was more gray in his hair than when last I saw him."

"Fíli's arm needs proper mending or he may lose the use of it. Will you help us or no?" Dwalin asked.

"Of course I will."

"And you will come alone, and speak to no one of their return after?"

Elrond turned a measured gaze to him. "You have my word, Master Dwarf, that the matter of which we speak will not leave this room."

He started for the door and Dwalin followed. "I must gather some supplies from the House of Healing," he said as they walked. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Some food would be appreciated if you can spare it. We were stuck in a cave for near a week during a blizzard and have very little left."

Elrond nodded as he pulled the door open. Dwalin was not surprised to see Bronwë sitting on a bench across the hall. She stood as soon as they appeared.

"Bronwë, would you be so kind as to escort Master Dwalin back to your halls? See to it your kitchens prepare a couple of baskets of food," the elf instructed her.

Bronwë nodded. "Of course, my Lord."

Elrond then looked to Dwalin. "I will meet you there in about half an hour."

Dwalin nodded and they parted ways. He sensed Bronwë wished to ask questions as they walked back along the path they'd just traveled, but thankfully she said nothing and he was not forced to parry her curiosity with lies or half-truths.

Relief washed through him as they retraced their steps—Elrond had agreed to help and to keep their secret, and he'd not even had to argue with him about it. That boded well, he thought. Or at least he hoped. After all, he knew that elves had a deep reverence for the Valar and the One. Hearing that Thorin and his nephews had been returned, the elf lord must've been thinking the same thing the rest of them were:

There was a great destiny still in store for those three that would likely impact the future of Middle-earth.

It was a mind-boggling concept that Dwalin preferred not to dwell on, for it inevitably gave him a headache. Besides, the here and now occupied quite enough of his attention.

"Master Dwalin?"

Blinking, he shook himself mentally and looked over at Bronwë. "Yes?"

She lifted one eyebrow as she returned his gaze. "That is twice now that I have spoken and you have not heard me. Is everything all right?"

Dwalin suppressed a growl. He really needed to pay attention lest he inadvertently give something away.

"Forgive me, Miss Bronwë. My mind is unfortunately crowded with many thoughts. I have a mission to complete and time is not entirely on my side considering we travel in winter."

They were entering the Dúnedain dining hall then, and the scent of roasting meat made a powerful assault on his olfactory senses; his stomach chose that moment to rumble, the pitch loud enough that Bronwë heard it even over the noisy chatter of the Rangers.

Dwalin's cheeks flamed even though he was usually immune to embarrassment. Bronwë chuckled softly beside him. "Perhaps you'd care to have something to eat while I see your baskets prepared?"

Part of him wanted to decline in loyalty to the others, who would not have the chance for such a meal. But he hadn't eaten since early this morning, while Thorin and the boys had been able to enjoy roasted rabbit as he'd been sent on this errand.

"Perhaps I would indeed, my Lady," he replied.

She gestured toward one of the long tables. "Have a seat. I'll send someone out with a plate and a mug of ale for you."

With a nod of his head, Dwalin planted himself at the end of one table to wait, and about five minutes had passed when he was approached by a boy with a full plate in one hand and a mug in the other.

"Here you are, Master Dwalin," the boy said as he set the items before him.

Dwalin blinked, studying the boy's face. He looked fairly familiar.

"Do I know ye, lad?" he asked as he reached for a large bread roll with his right hand and the mug of ale with his left.

The young man, tall and slim—though his shoulders were likely to broaden in a few more years—nodded his head as he placed his hands behind his back. "Indeed sir. I am Estel, foster son to Lord Elrond. The Lady Gilraen is my mother."

He felt his eyes widen—now he knew why he looked as one he had met before. They had—four years ago, when the Company had stayed a few weeks here during the quest. The boy before him had proven to have a keen intellect even at ten, and he'd been insatiably curious about dwarves. He was impressed that Estel remembered his name.

"'Tis good to meet you again, laddie," Dwalin replied with a nod. "You're growing into quite the strapping young man."

Estel smiled. "Thank you. Do enjoy your meal, sir. My aunt is preparing baskets for you as my father has instructed her. She said to tell you she would not be long."

Dwalin lifted his drink in response, and with another nod the young man turned and walked away. He watched him go for a moment before turning around to tuck into his food, for he knew he had not long to eat it.

Indeed, he was just finishing the leg of mutton when the hall went nearly silent; this made him look up toward the door, where he saw that Elrond had come in.

"Please, do not mind me. Carry on as you were," he said, addressing the Rangers as he approached Dwalin.

Bronwë and Gilraen came up on Dwalin's left as Elrond stopped at his right elbow. They each carried a large basket—relief flooded through him again, as well as gratitude. Taking the last bite of food on his plate, he chugged the rest of the ale as he stood, then took a basket in each hand.

"I am ready when you are, Master Dwarf," Elrond said, then looked to the women. "Thank you, ladies, for your assistance."

"Indeed. My companions and I shall not be able to thank you enough," Dwalin added. "This will make the next week or so much easier to bear."

"As before you are most welcome, Master Dwalin," said Gilraen with a soft smile.

"If only they had come with you, they'd have also enjoyed a hearty meal," added Bronwë.

Dwalin cast a glance at Elrond, whose expression was impassive. The dwarf turned back to the women and said, "'Tis their loss for being reluctant to visit with elves."

He and Elrond then turned and exited the hall and headed for the stables. There he tied the two baskets on either side of his pony before climbing into the saddle; Elrond had saddled a white one that looked gray in the moonlight. He said nothing as he turned his mount toward the north and started that way. Dwalin followed, wondering as they passed down stone paths illuminated by tall torches how they were going to find their way back to the cave in the dark.

His Elven companion answered that question as they passed through the northern gate. Elrond paused and drew from a pack two sticks Dwalin knew right away were torches; once he'd lit the first with a stone and flint, he passed it down to Dwalin, who then held it out and lit the second. Now, with a torch in one hand each, they could see several feet ahead.

The silence with which they'd started remained for a time, until Elrond asked, "I've been wondering… Why did Thorin not bring his nephews to Rivendell?"

Dwalin grunted. "Thorin is of the mind that he is protecting Fíli and Kíli by keeping their return a secret. He feels that the less people who know who they really are, the less they endanger by association."

"I admit that the logic is fairly sound. But you said he intends eventually to settle in the White Mountains, and that Ilúvatar has said they were being hunted, yes?" At Dwalin's nod, he said, "Mordor is one of Gondor's closest neighbors, and it is almost a certainty that Sauron's spirit will have fled to that fell place. Does Thorin not consider that by being closer to where evil makes its bed, he is thus endangering himself and his kin by making theirs next door?"

"He believes that hiding in plain sight is better than openly declaring their rebirth. Something about the closer they are to danger being the further they are from harm, or some such nonsense."

"Given where he intends to reside, I daresay anonymity will not serve him long," Elrond observed.

"It was Mahal's will he go there," Dwalin replied with a shrug. "Seeing as they'd not have come back at all had the Maker not begged to thwart Sauron's plans by doing so, he is thus following his direction."

Elrond tilted his head in thought at that, but said nothing more as they continued on. Dwalin believed it close to midnight by the time the old troll cave came into sight.

Thorin stormed toward them brandishing his sword, the flames from their small fire causing his angry expression to appear even more threatening.

"Where the hell have you been?!" he demanded.

"It is most pleasing to see you again, Thorin Oakenshield," Elrond said calmly as he dismounted the white horse.

"Uncle, settle down. You know Rivendell's some hours' ride from here—we're lucky they didn't wait until morning to come," said a clearly exasperated Kíli as the elf was untying a pack from his horse's saddle.

"Fíli is even further distressed than when Dwalin rode away in the afternoon light—he has now developed a fever and refuses to eat," snapped Thorin. "I will not be calm until I know he is recovering."

"Which he soon will be, Master Dwarf," Elrond told him as he walked past him and over to his patient. Thorin scowled at his back as he sheathed his sword.

Dwalin had to admit, it was something of a mystery how some elves, like Thranduil, were so easy to rile up while others, such as Elrond, seemed completely unaffected by the infamous Durin temper. Thorin had been rude bordering on insulting and Elrond was completely unruffled by his obnoxiousness.

Baffling, that was. Mirkwood's self-righteous king would have already barked back, and he'd be witnessing a heated argument right now instead of Elrond's careful examination of Fíli's arm.

"Have you a pot for boiling water?" he asked.

"Aye," replied Kíli, who immediately fetched it from one of his packs. "It's not very big, though."

Elrond glanced at it briefly. "It is more than sufficient. Put some water into it and set it over the fire."

Kíli gave a nod and set about doing as instructed. Fíli groaned as Elrond then lifted his arm to take a closer look at the point where it was broken. The misalignment was visible and the skin around the area bruised.

"Master Fíli, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm not deaf, just in a hell of a lot of pain."

"Forgive me," Elrond said with a chuckle. "I just wanted to be sure you were conscious while I felt the break."

Fíli looked up at him, then took a deep breath and nodded. He gritted his teeth and growled a time or two while the healer gently probed around the fracture. "I have both good news and not-so-good news," he said after a few moments.

Fíli scoffed. "Wonderful. Tell me the good news first."

"I can fix your arm like new," Elrond replied succinctly.

"Can you really?" asked Kíli.

The elf looked over his shoulder at him. "Tauriel healed your leg and saved your life when you were poisoned by that morgul arrow, did she not?"

"How do you know about that?"

"The Queen of Dale resided in my halls for about two months the year following the battle for the mountain, Master Kíli," Elrond told him. "Before she left, she spoke to me at length about all that had been troubling her, seeking my advice on how she might right the wrongs she had committed. You were mentioned in that conversation."

Dwalin watched Kíli's emotions shut down like a hammer falling on an anvil; he nodded silently and turned his attention back to the pot he had filled.

"What is your point? What is the not-so-good news?" Thorin asked from his place on Fíli's left.

"The point, Master Oakenshield, is that Tauriel healed Kíli with only minimal battlefield medical training. I, on the other hand, have had thousands of years of advanced medical education—I think it safe to say that yes, I really can fix Fíli's arm like new," Elrond said.

He looked to Fíli then. "The not-so-good news is that although misaligned, the bones _have_ started to mend together and I shall need to re-break it in order to do so."

"And it's going to hurt—a lot. Am I right?" Fíli asked.

Elrond nodded. "I am afraid so."

He rummaged in his bag and produced a small pouch. From that he pulled a couple of sprigs of a plant that Fíli appeared to recognize. "Kingsfoil? I thought that was only for poison?"

Elrond set the plant aside and put its pouch back in his bag, then pulled another out and plucked a few leaves from it. He then stood and walked over to the fire, where he dropped the plants—leaves, buds, and all—into the water.

"Stir that for me every couple of minutes won't you?" he said to Kíli, who merely nodded again and picked up a ladle lying nearby to do just that.

Turning back to Fíli he said, "Kingsfoil, which my people call athelas, is indeed used to treat poisons and other infections. It is also good for treating fevers. The other leaves are to ease your pain."

"Good. Maybe after a while I'll be able to eat something," the young dwarf said. "It's like, I know I'm hungry but I can't stomach the thought—no pun intended—of eating anything because the pain's making me ill."

Elrond smiled at him. "Well, we shall certainly take care of that soon enough, though I'd give it an hour or so before you try to eat, to make sure your stomach is settled," he said as he knelt beside him once more.

"Speaking of food," Dwalin said with a snap of his fingers. He returned to his pony and untied the baskets given to him, then carried them over to set them near the fire. Kneeling down, he opened one and found within loaves of bread, apples, pears, oranges, carrots, and potatoes. In the other he found several wrapped packages of cheese and dried meat, as well as two large drinking skins. Popping the top of one and then the other, he smiled hugely when he scented the sharp tang of ale.

"Well now, those lovely birds sure know how to treat a fella, even ones they don't know," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Thorin.

Dwalin looked to Kíli when he answered. "Your friends Bronwë and Gilraen have supplied us with at least a week's worth of food, and some ale!"

As he had hoped, the sullen expression on the younger dwarrow's countenance changed and he smiled hugely. "You've seen Bronwë and Gilraen?"

Dwalin nodded. "Aye, and Gilraen's boy Estel. Growing into a fine lad for a son of Men, I think he is."

"How were they?" Kíli pressed. "Did they speak of their family? What of their sisters?"

For the first time in a while, Dwalin exchanged a glance with Elrond, who gave an almost imperceptible nod—he was free to share anything he knew. Taking a breath, he told of the deaths of Ivorwen, whom they'd not met but had heard of, and of Neniel. He reported that both Taendis and Heledhwen were married and that the former had borne a son one year ago. Both Kíli and Fíli expressed their sympathies for Neniel's passing.

"How is Lindir taking it?" Kíli asked. "I know he thought well of her even if he did not return her affections."

Elrond sighed. "It was a mighty blow for him, and for many months he carried a lot of guilt. But eventually Lindir was made to see that although tragic, Neniel's suicide was no fault of his. He simply could not love her the way she wished and it was her choice to end her own life because of that."

Kíli announced then that the water was boiling, and Elrond asked him to fill a cup with it and bring it to him. When that was done, the elf handed the cup to Fíli. "Drink all of that, my lad. It'll be bitter, but I assure you it will help."

Fíli did as he was told, grimacing all the while. When he was done he set the cup aside. "That was more than bitter, it was rather disgusting."

"It is a sad truth that not all medicines are palatable," Elrond replied.

Within moments Fíli said he was beginning to feel the pain less. Elrond laid the back of his hand to his brow and pronounced his fever already reduced, then took careful hold of his arm. "If the three of you would be so kind as to hold onto him," he said over his shoulder. "There is not so much to break, but it will still be intensely painful."

Dwalin moved immediately to comply, as did Kíli and Thorin. Fíli's uncle knelt on his left side with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, and he and Kíli each pressed down on his thighs. With a firm grip, Elrond made a quick twist; there was an audible snap and Fíli screamed through clenched teeth, shaking madly under their hands. As he settled and the break appeared to be lined up properly, the elf then began chanting under his breath. He became surrounded by a brilliant white light that grew to such an intensity they were forced to turn their heads away from it.

A moment later they heard Elrond's voice, and Dwalin looked back.

"There now," he was saying. "The bone is mended, though you will still be weak for at least a fortnight, possibly longer—I recommend keeping it in a sling. Do not let the stubbornness your kindred are known for press you into trying to make full use of it before you are ready as you risk delaying full recovery."

Fíli offered a silent nod, then shifted and settled more comfortably against his pack, his now-healed arm across his chest. Kíli rose and moved to the baskets of food and returned with a bread roll, pressing it into his brother's free hand.

Elrond pulled from his bag again the two pouches from which he'd taken the plants he'd used and handed them to Thorin. "You will need these for the next several days. Brew a small amount and make sure he drinks a full cup two to three times daily, or as needed for pain."

Thorin took the pouches and nodded. Dwalin, seeing that all was well, moved over to the fire and looked into the small stew pot. "What about what's left in here?" he asked.

"Drain what is left into a cup or spare water skin, if you have one, and dispose of the plants. You can reheat that and give it to him or he can drink it cold, although heated like tea works best."

The elf lord then retied his pack and stood. He offered a courteous nod to each of them and started for his horse.

"Where are you going?" Thorin asked as he followed.

"My work here is done, Master Dwarf," Elrond replied. "I am going home."

"I…" Thorin paused, and huffed out a breath before saying, "Thank you for your help. I do not know what we would have done had you not come to Fíli's aid."

Elrond turned to him. "Firstly, Thorin Oakenshield, he was an injured person in need of healing. That alone would have brought me to his side, whether here or in Imladris. Secondly, you are the three of you blessed by Aulë and Ilúvatar himself—I would not dare risk their wrath by not giving you assistance."

He took a step closer and Thorin looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a steely one of his own.

"And finally," he said with his voice dropped low, "I have as much reason to despise your people as you do mine, yet I do not. It makes no never mind to me that you and your nephews are dwarves even if you care that I am an elf. You are to me one of the free peoples of Middle-earth, as am I, and there are greater threats to our livelihood than a foolish notion such as racial hatred. If I were you, I would keep in mind that your enmity is more properly directed to the southeast than it is to the west."

With that said, he turned back to the horse and swung himself up into the saddle. Raising his hand to his heart, he bowed his head in farewell before giving a tug to the reins and turning his mount to the south.


	19. Chapter 19

**Last chapter's Rockstar Reviewers are readergirl4985, Robinbird79, Rothruingwen, MiyonzMae, MDawn, and Eryn. Thank you so much! Big thanks also to allycat1186 and Saxor131 for following/favoriting!**

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 **19\. Looking Upon a Familiar Sight**

"…we found ourselves looking upon a familiar sight…" ~ Frodo Baggins, _The Return of the King_

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Fíli was glad that Thorin decided to take a full day of rest following Elrond's visit to their campsite, in order to give him time to regain some strength.

He slept better that night than he had since breaking his arm, and woke the next day about mid-morning to the sound of digging. Opening his eyes, he noted Kíli and Dwalin bent over a hole, each with a knife in hand.

"The devil are you two doing?" he asked.

"Ah, Fee—you're awake!" Kíli said with a grin. "Feeling any better?"

"I definitely feel more rested," he replied, then lifted his arm and cautiously moved it about. It ached some and he felt some strain on the muscles. Elrond had said he would be weak in the arm, and he did sense that, but otherwise he felt fine and told his brother so.

"So what are you doing over there?" Fíli said as he sat up.

"Looking for the treasure Nori and Glóin buried. Someone's been here since us, as a couple chests are missing," answered Dwalin. "We're looking for the rest of them."

"Hoping, he means, that they're not all gone," added Kíli.

"Oi, there's still a few old swords in the back there," Dwalin said, gesturing toward the back of the cave.

"Well, you know I love a good treasure much as the next dwarf," Fíli said as he stood, then stretched and walked over. "But what would it matter if the gold is all gone? We three are among the wealthiest beings in Middle-earth, what with our shares of the mountain treasure."

"He's got a point there, Dwalin," Kíli said.

Indeed, Dáin had kept his word about returning their shares to them, to the point of writing up a document in front of Bard and Tauriel and having them sign as witnesses a day before they'd left Dale. Though they knew they'd not have need of much money during the greater part of their journey, each dwarf—including Thorin—carried among his packs of clothing and tools a large bag filled with gold, silver, and some precious stones. Should they ever need more, Dáin had told them, they needed only send a letter (at which time he would have the specified amount pulled from the treasury) and then come back for it.

Dwalin slapped the ground beside the hole. "It's the principle of the thing, boy!" he declared. "We found that treasure fair as anything—it was ours for the taking."

"Or leaving, as the case was," Fíli returned cheekily. He then looked around him as he'd not been inclined to the day before, noting that not much had changed. Though being left open the place certainly didn't smell as bad, to Fíli it looked as though the cave had not been touched since their last visit, and wondered if the stone trolls had frightened any travelers into staying clear of the area.

He did, however, notice one very importing thing that was missing: his uncle. "Where's Thorin?" he asked.

"He went hunting," Kíli told him. "Said he was hoping to score something fresh in order to make what we were given last longer."

"A fine idea, though I'm rather surprised you didn't go with him, Dwalin. You said you weren't going to let him go off on his own anymore," said Fíli.

Dwalin snorted. "He snuck out on me, the git," he grumbled.

Fíli looked to his now-sniggering brother, who between increasing guffaws of laughter explained that Dwalin had gone to relieve himself at first light, and that Thorin had chosen that moment to make his break.

It really was quite funny, and Fíli began laughing too, though he sobered long enough to say, "Dwalin, you're going to have to realize that you can't be with him all the time."

The older dwarrow scoffed. "I can bloody well try."

Kíli, mustering as innocent an expression as he could, asked, "Planning to hold his shaft for him while he takes a piss?"

Dwalin's answer was to scowl darkly. He raised a hand and pressed his index finger into Kíli's nose. "Do not think that because you were blessed by Mahal I'll not still beat the tar out of you, boy. Respect your elders as your _amad_ taught you."

"Yes sir!"

The hand moved to smack his brother upside the head, then Dwalin returned to digging. Kíli rubbed the side of his head where he'd been struck, though he still wore a smile. Fíli grinned and shook his head, turning toward the low fire. Personally he was happy to see Kíli joking around. He'd been mopey through most of their trek through the mountains, so seeing him with a smile on his face felt like a gift. He hoped his brother's mood continued to lighten.

He found a mug of lukewarm liquid by the fire and inquired as to its contents. Kíli told him it was what remained of his "medical tea" from the night before and that he should drink it and get it over with. Because his arm had started to throb, Fíli complied, chugging the tepid, gag-inducing tea before picking an apple out of one basket and a piece of dried meat from the other. He alternatively munched on both as he took a walk around the cave. There were indeed still swords from the trolls' victims and other items such as armor and clothing.

"You know, we should take some of this stuff with us," he said. "As much as we can carry."

"Whatever for?" grumbled Dwalin.

Fíli turned to him. "Well, we could sell it in men's villages, like Bree perhaps. Make a little coin for ourselves even though we don't really need it."

"That is a sound plan," said Thorin as he came down into the cave dragging a deer.

Dwalin surged to his feet. "Thorin, don't you dare pull a stunt like that again—that was a foul move you made."

The corner of his uncle's lip turned up as Fíli watched the two. "Dwalin, whilst I appreciate your concern, I have long been without need of a babysitter."

"Ah ha!" cried Kíli triumphantly. "I've found one!"

"It's about time!" cried Dwalin, turning back to where Kíli knelt on the ground.

"Kíli, keep looking for the buried chests," Thorin ordered as he dragged the doe off to one side of the fire. "Fíli, gather together everything you think will have value—there's enough wood and material here that we can make a litter or two if need be. Dwalin, come help me with this doe."

They set to their respective tasks and soon Fíli had a large pile of items he thought might sell put up in one corner. Kíli had found six of the ten chests that were buried, and a rough-made rack stood next to the fire on which the deer's hide was drying after having been cleaned with melted snow. On a taller rack above a second fire was the majority of meat from the kill, being dried for traveling.

Each dwarf had a hearty piece of venison steak with their midday meal, and as Thorin ate the last of his he said, "Tomorrow we'll be on our way again. In a day or so's travel south we should reach the bridge that crosses the Hoarwell. Little more than a week after crossing we should reach Weathertop."

Dwalin nodded his agreement. "Aye, sounds about right. I think without any lengthy stays in one place, we ought reach the Shire in about six weeks."

 **-...-**

It was another two and a half weeks before they reached Bree, a large town of Men west of Weathertop. The four dwarves came across three small villages in that time, but none with the means to actually purchase the goods they'd pilfered from the troll cave. What they did part with—a few swords and some of the clothing—they traded for food, and Kíli convinced Thorin to pay a couple of silvers for a small wagon, which was easier for the ponies to pull.

Bree would be different, Kíli mused as they rode through the gate. Here, he knew, they would be able to stable the ponies and sleep in a real bed for a night—hopefully more than one night. They arrived in the evening and headed straight for the stable, which thankfully had room for their ponies and their wagon. It was only then, however, that they realized they had a bit of a problem:

Someone was going to have to stay with it, because they could not haul six full chests and all the remaining wares from the troll cave down the street to the Prancing Pony.

Dwalin sighed and pulled his axes. "I'll stay," he said. "I can shove most of this stuff aside and sleep in the wagon."

Thorin nodded. "Good of you to offer, cousin. I'll have Fíli bring you some food."

"There's plenty dried meat left, I'll be fine. I'm just glad it's warm in here."

Fíli shook his head. "No, it's all right. You should have a good meal, at least, for sacrificing a night in a decent bed."

Kíli offered his agreement, and Dwalin relented with a nod. The warrior set about making their ponies comfortable as he, his uncle, and brother set out for the inn. When they arrived, Thorin requested two rooms be prepared—one with two beds if such was available. They then sat down to eat perhaps the best meal they'd had since the venison steaks at the troll cave: a hearty mutton stew with thick chunks of meat and a strong broth, coupled with hot bread rolls and tall tankards of ale. None of the three spoke while they ate, and when they were done, Thorin flagged down a serving girl and ordered another bowl be prepared in something that could be carried. She came back with a small basket, a little steel pot inside with a lid containing the stew and three of the bread rolls. Fíli took it from her immediately and headed out.

Kíli was settling into one of the twin beds in the room he would share with his brother when Fíli returned, a grin on his features. "What's got you so happy all of a sudden?" he asked.

"There's another tavern down the road," Fíli replied as he settled on the edge of the other bed.

"So?"

"So, _naddith_ , it's a tavern with girls."

Kíli raised an eyebrow. "Fee, there are girls working here. Our server was a lass, if you'll recall."

Fíli shook his head. "I was attempting to be tactful, but I swear sometimes I wonder how smart you really are. I'm talking about a brothel, Kee. I saw a couple of the girls through the window, and the pickings weren't slim. Quite a few nice ones."

Now he frowned. "So what if there's a brothel down the road? A town this size must have a fair share."

"Wouldn't you care to spend the night in the arms of a pretty lady?" his brother asked him. "They listen when you talk, hanging on every word you say."

"Because they're paid to do that."

"Maybe, but the illusion is part of the package. I don't mind the fantasy every once in a while."

Kíli turned to look at his brother more fully. "Just how many times have you visited a brothel?"

Fíli grinned wider. "Let's just say that trip to Mithlond before the quest was not the only one."

"And that serving girl in the Rangers' hall in Rivendell? Did you bed her as well?"

His brother nodded. "A sweet girl she was. I believe I am only the second ever to have lain with her."

Kíli snorted and rolled over on his back. "Could've fooled me, the way she was putting her intentions out there."

"Oh, come on, Kíli! Just because a woman lets you know boldly that she's interested does not mean she's been around the table more times than you have!"

"How would I know?" Kíli grumbled.

"Precisely—and how will you ever know if you don't try it? I've no doubt a tumble with one of those girls would relieve you of much of that pent up frustration you've got rolling around inside you," Fíli pointed out. "You claim you've accepted Tauriel shall never be yours. Do you also mean to be as chaste as a virgin all your days?"

"And why should I not be?" Kíli retorted, casting a frown in his brother's direction. "The one I love has chosen another, which means there is no other for me. I shall spend the rest of my days alone."

Fíli groaned and shook his head again. "You really mean to have only your hand for companionship for the next hundred and fifty years, or however long you'll live this time around?"

Kíli looked to the ceiling as he placed his hands behind his head. "Looks that way, _nadad_."

His brother released another groan of frustration as he stood. At the door he turned back and said, "Kíli, have you even once stopped to consider that Tauriel was simply not your One? She could still be out there, brother. You're still a young dwarrow, you could find her yet. And even if you don't, there's no reason for you to deny yourself the same pleasures we all desire."

Kíli lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long while after Fíli had departed. As much as he had cared for Tauriel, how could he possibly love someone else?

 _Maybe you loved her just enough to learn to love someone else._

Tilda's words came to him unbidden, as did her pretty face to his mind's eye. He recalled the earnestness in her features as she'd spoken with him the night he'd regained his memories, the smile with which she'd favored him the next morning before he'd blundered ahead with his "compliment."

He also recalled the pain in her eyes as she'd told him goodbye, and he felt a burning in his chest once more for having hurt her feelings. Mahal, he really hadn't dealt with females enough to even know how to act around them—and Fíli thought a harlot would be a good teacher? She might be able to instruct him how to please a female amidst the bedclothes, but how to behave around them, how to treat them as a person, was a whole other matter.

Even if he were to consider that he _might_ love another someday, Kíli reluctantly admitted he'd need an education in how to treat a lady first.

 **-...-**

Their first full day in Bree, Kíli and the others sought to rid themselves of the swords and various other items they'd collected from the troll cave. Thankfully, Bree's market was active even on a winter's day, for though it was cold the sun shone fairly bright through much of the morning. Around midday a light snow began to fall, and by dinner all but the last of the salvageable clothing had been sold. The rest, Thorin decided, would be left behind simply so they'd be rid of it.

This still left them with having the six chests—covered by the deer hide—to keep in the wagon. As it was evening before their day of selling and bartering was done (the ponies were each re-shod as well), it was decided they would spend one more night in town before starting the final leg of the journey to the Shire. Since Dwalin had already spent the first night guarding their small hoard, Thorin declared he had earned the right to sleep in a bed, and the remaining three would draw for the duty.

Dwalin plucked two small diamonds and a ruby of fairly equal size from one of the chests as they stood round the wagon and held them in his palm. Kíli, Thorin, and Fíli were each to pick one with their eyes closed, and whoever chose the ruby would stay with the wagon and ponies.

Kíli, knowing how much his brother had been looking forward to visiting the brothel again that night, was hard-pressed to contain his mirth when Fíli opened his hand and revealed the ruby. As a consolation, he ate his dinner sitting next to him in the back of the wagon.

On the way back to the Prancing Pony after, he ran into Dwalin and had a conversation with him that had left him rather stunned, and for the second night in a row, though he lay nestled in a comfortable bed, he did not immediately fall asleep. Too many thoughts ran through his head, chasing each other round his mind so fast he could hardly settle on one before another took its place. It was only when he firmly decided that his happiness would be achieved by focusing on seeing the others settled into their new lives that sleep finally claimed him.

 **-...-**

The next three weeks passed in a blur. The four of them were up at dawn, ate a quick breakfast, and were on their way almost before the sun was fully risen. It was rare that Thorin allowed them to stop again before nightfall, so eager he was to cover as much ground as possible. It was not easy going some days, with the cold and the wind and the snow—sometimes icy rain—to deal with, not to mention the unpredictable terrain. More than once throughout the journey he had grumbled a wish that they had been returned in the spring or summer, at a time when they could have seen the ground on which their ponies walked.

When they caught sight of the Shire at long last at about mid-morning on the 15th of December, Thorin called a halt. On the top of a hill they stood overlooking snow-covered mounds with brightly painted round doors, smoke rising from chimneys, and a few hardy hobbits moving about on errands of one nature or another.

"I still can't get over how they don't wear any shoes," Fíli said. "Not even in winter!"

"I'm wondering if Bilbo still has that toothpick he called a sword," Dwalin said, eliciting a chuckle even from Thorin.

"Come, let us get the ponies stabled," he said, giving Narag—the name he'd given the black stallion—a light kick. "We'll have to carry the chests to Bag End as I don't wish to leave them behind, though I'd trust these folk more than those in Bree."

"Not to mention we've got to hope poor Bilbo doesn't flip out at the sight of us," Kíli added.

"Speaking of that," Thorin said, looking over at Dwalin who rode beside him. "I want you to approach him first."

"What should I say, do you think?" Dwalin asked.

Thorin raised a gloved hand to scratch his chin. "I don't know… Perhaps something about how you've brought some friends with you, but seeing them is like to give him a shock."

"Suggest he sits down first," offered Fíli.

"That might be a good idea," Dwalin agreed. "I'm sure you remember how easily the wee fellow fainted when Bofur was teasing him about Smaug."

The few hobbits they encountered stared with curious eyes and gave them a wide berth. As he hoped to stay on here until spring, Thorin did his best to smile politely and nod—especially at the females, whom he suspected might be frightened by their gruff appearances. The only public stable in Hobbiton was fairly empty, though some farmer or other was lodging a small herd of sheep there. Thorin paid the stout hobbit who owned the place generously for the care of the ponies and storage of their wagon, for his name and forthright manner were so alike that of the old warrior who had greeted him so warmly in the Halls of Waiting.

The chests from the troll cave they tied together two apiece with some rope and carried them over their shoulders, save for Dwalin who was on point. It was not long until they stood again before the green door of Bilbo's home, with he and the boys standing off to the side as Dwalin knocked.

" _Just a minute!_ " they heard Bilbo call out from inside, and something in Thorin's chest tightened. How could he have ever been such a fool as to want to kill him?

Madness, he thought, did such terrible things to the mind.

A moment later the door was swung open, and from under the low brim of his hood he watched as Bilbo exclaimed his surprise at seeing Dwalin—"Of all the dwarves I thought I'd never see again!"—standing on his doorstep.

"Please, please, do come in!" he crowed happily.

Dwalin held up a hand to stop him. "Er, Bilbo, I'm not alone. See, I've got some friends—"

"Others from the Company? Well, why didn't you say so! Where are they?"

The warrior sighed as he looked over his shoulder at Thorin. _I suppose there is no other way to do this_ , he thought, and pulled back the over-large hood of his cloak as he stepped up beside Dwalin.

"Hello Bilbo," he said.

Bilbo stared wide-eyed for half a heartbeat before dropping like a stone to the floor behind him.

* * *

 **A/N:** There is a short story added to the _Glimpses_ collection I'd love for you all to read. Well, I want you to read them all eventually, but the particular one I'm talking about is called "Fire and Ice". It's the conversation Kíli mentions having with Dwalin, which I cut for time and pacing. Since it's in _Glimpses_ , however, it still happened. ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19's Rockstar Reviewers are HomeIsBehind, MiyonzMae, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, MDawn, SethadoeVGC, and Celebrisilweth! Thanks also to animikiikaa for favoriting/following, and a big thanks to those of you just reading along.**

 **Bonus shoutouts will be given to those that get the Jane Austen reference that is the chapter title. ;)**

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 **20\. Colonel Brandon**

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In the first instant after Bilbo fell, Thorin surged past Dwalin to come to his aid. In the second, something else fell—or was dropped—in another part of the house, and a moment later a brown-haired, freckle-faced, hazel-eyed female hobbit appeared in the archway to the parlor.

"Oh my goodness! Bilbo!" she exclaimed as she rushed into the foyer and actually _pushed Thorin out of the way_.

"Come on, love, wake up!" she cried as she patted his cheek, then turned to look over her shoulder and glare at them with the fiercest expression Dwalin had ever seen on a hobbit.

A funny little warmth began to spread through his chest at the sight.

"What in Yavanna's name did you do to him, you brutes?!"

He could only stare slack-jawed as Thorin tried to explain that they were friends of Bilbo's and he'd fainted in surprise because…

"…because he'd not expected to see any of us again, Mrs. Baggins," Dwalin finished for him, finding his voice at last.

"I'm not his wife, you idiot, I'm his cousin. Were you really a 'good friend' of Bilbo's, you'd know he's not married," snapped the feisty female. "Now help me get 'im up off the floor."

The warmth became a fire that now raced along his limbs as he bent to comply with her order. Dwalin picked up Bilbo by the shoulders as the female grabbed his feet and they carried him over to his beloved armchair by the parlor fireplace. After settling Bilbo's feet on the accompanying footstool, she shoved Dwalin aside and took her cousin's hand in one of hers.

"Come on now, wake yourself up, Bilbo," she prodded as she gently shook one shoulder with her other hand.

"We did not mean to frighten him, Miss…" said Thorin.

Her shoulders lifted and settled in a manner that told Dwalin she was trying to rein in her temper. "Larkspur Took," she said. "And he's not usually so easily startled anymore, not since he came back from his 'adventure'—with you lot, I'm wagering—unless it's Lobelia Sackville-Baggins coming round."

Fíli and Kíli had stepped inside by this time and closed the door behind them. "Is she a relation of his as well?" Kíli asked.

"Unfortunately, as Bilbo would put it. And I would too—snobbiest hobbit I've ever had the displeasure to meet," Larkspur said. "She's still in a strop over not getting the house."

From the corner of his eye, Dwalin watched Thorin frown. "What does that mean?"

Larkspur sighed again. "Lobelia's long had her eye on Bag End, and thinks because she's married to Bilbo's next-of-kin, the house will be theirs should Bilbo die. When he hadn't come back from his little walkabout after six months, she started pushing to have him declared dead so she could claim the house."

"Well, that's absurd!" cried Fíli.

"Imagine poor Bilbo's surprise when he _did_ come back after little more than a year, in the midst of an auction where everything he possessed was being sold right out from under him. And even though he had proof of his identity, he's still spent the last four bloody years having to buy back his own things."

She turned to them with a narrow-eyed gaze. "No thanks to you lot."

The fire inside him burned hotter when her gaze met his, and Dwalin had the craziest urge to take her head in hand and kiss her senseless.

He shook himself mentally. _Get a hold of yourself, you ninny_ , he berated himself.

Bilbo moaned then, and shook his head slowly. "Oh my," he said, a hand going to his eyes. "Haven't…haven't done that in a while."

When the hand fell he looked up slowly at them. His eyes widened as he took in Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli, but thankfully he didn't pass out again.

"Are you going to be all right?" Larkspur asked softly as she patted the back of his hand.

"I'll… I'll be fine. I think," Bilbo replied. "Why don't you go and finish making dinner?"

Her eyes danced back and forth between him and the dwarves, but she relented with a nod. "If you need me, just give a shout. I know where you keep the iron skillet," Larkspur said, before she turned and slowly trudged back toward the kitchen.

Dwalin watched her go, and it was a fight to contain the surge of lust that hit his groin at the sight of her shapely bottom.

His attention was drawn back to a more pressing concern when Bilbo said three little words.

"You were dead."

Thorin took a careful step forward. "Aye, we were."

"How can you be here?" Bilbo asked, shaking his head as though to dispel a disturbing sight from his eyes.

He then surprised them all by surging to his feet and charging over to Thorin. "How can you bloody be here?! I was _there_ , Thorin! I was there when you died. I sat beside you and I listened to you take your last… your last…"

For a moment, Dwalin thought he was going to faint again, but instead he placed his hands on his hips and hung his head, and then they heard him sniffle. When he looked up again after a moment, there were tears in his eyes.

"I listened as you took your very last breath," he said, his voice cracking with anguish as he spoke. "I walked from one crypt to the next, and the next, at the funeral that was held for the three of you."

He'd looked from Thorin, to Fíli, and to Kíli as he spoke, and Dwalin noted they were not immune to his pain. Neither was he. Thorin had told him what Bard said about Bilbo's reaction to their deaths, and he had been forced to admit the King of Dale was right. It was hard to watch him relive the nightmare of that day, to try and reconcile it with the fact that they were standing before him alive and well.

Bilbo's eyes found Thorin's again. "How can you _be_ here?" he asked again.

It was clear from Thorin's expression—at least to Dwalin's eyes—that he felt terrible for having caused Bilbo any suffering. "I am so sorry," he said. "I wish I could have spared you the grief."

Dwalin, on seeing that Bilbo seemed on the verge of collapse from the exhaustion of his ire, took a breath and said, "Why don't we all sit down, and Thorin can explain everything."

"Yes. Uh… Yes. That seems like a very good idea."

Bilbo turned and led the way to the dining room, bypassing the kitchen by taking them through the east hall and the atrium. He sat tiredly on one side of the small table while Thorin sat across from him. Fíli and Kíli each found a chair and sat in them at opposite ends of the table, and Dwalin drifted toward the kitchen as the tale he'd heard two or three times now was explained to the hobbit.

He nearly collided with Larkspur as she was coming from the warm kitchen carrying a tray with mugs and a large pitcher.

"Out of the way, you big oaf," she muttered.

That was three times she had insulted him, but he could not find it in him to care. Dwalin could only smile back at her and nod, which caused her to frown as she moved to pass him. She was just setting the tray down when all of a sudden she gasped, a hand going over her heart.

"You…you've met Yavanna?!"

Thorin looked up at her with a nod. "Indeed, Miss Took. We met a number of the Valar during our brief residence in Valinor."

Dwalin moved closer as she dropped onto the bench next to Bilbo, her countenance fairly glowing with awe. Her eyes were round and her smile wide, and it was then he noticed a small gap between her top two front teeth that somehow made her even more attractive, rather than detracting from her beauty.

"You've really met Yavanna? What was she like?" Larkspur asked as she poured ale into the mugs and passed them around the table.

"Determined," Kíli said. "She said that Ilúvatar had directed her to save someone and she needed my help. That someone was…is…a friend of mine."

"Forceful's more the way I'd describe her," Fíli added. "Came charging in and said something along the lines of 'This is what I've been told to do, let's get it done.'"

"Caring," added Thorin, drawing the eyes of the two hobbits toward him. "She is the mate of our Maker. Remember, my sister-sons, how the Lady Yavanna walked among us in the Halls of Waiting and spoke with gentleness, even though our kin cuts down her beloved trees for their forges."

"Was she very beautiful?" Larkspur asked. "I don't know what Dwarvish standards are on beauty when a female has no beard, but I've always imagined her to be breathtakingly beautiful."

Thorin and the lads looked at her with mild amazement, which drew a chuckle from Bilbo. "If you've not guessed by now, my dear cousin is a devotee of Yavanna," he said. "Many hobbits are, and she is known around here as the Queen of Things That Grow."

A devotee of Yavanna, was she? Dwalin mused. One who revered the wife of their Maker would be a perfect bride for a dwarf.

 _Not just any dwarf_ , he thought, feeling a scowl cross his face when Larkspur reached forward and put her hand briefly on Kíli's arm as they continued to speak.

"I'm… I just can't… I can hardly believe this," Bilbo said after a time. "I literally watched you die, yet you are here again."

"If our presence is too difficult for you, Master Baggins, you have only to say the words and we will go," Thorin said. "I have no desire to disrupt your life any more than already I have."

"Why did you come here? Why did you come to see me?"

A heavy sigh was released before Thorin replied, "Because I desire to make amends for my reprehensible behavior towards you. No honorable dwarf should treat a friend—a brother—as I treated you."

"It was four years ago, Thorin."

"For me it was yesterday."

They stared at one another for a moment, until the hobbit inclined his head. "Yes, I suppose it would seem that way to you. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you—you can't imagine how overjoyed I am that you were so blessed by your maker and the One. I just… I'm stunned. I'm completely stunned. I thought for a moment I was looking at a ghost, and then you spoke…"

Bilbo lifted his mug, took a long pull, and wrinkled his nose in that funny way he had as he set the cup back down. "So, um… What are your plans? Why come all this way—aren't you going to be king in Erebor?"

"Nay, I am not," Thorin replied. "Relinquishing my crown was a sacrifice I had to make in order to be reborn. I made it gladly."

Their host frowned. "But… But the quest! All that time, all you could talk about was getting the mountain back. How much it meant to you, to your people."

"And my people have it. I set out to reclaim the mountain, Bilbo, and it has been reclaimed. But not for me." A light smile turned up Thorin's lips. "Do not be sad for my loss, for it is not so great as losing one's kin. The death of my sister in grief for her children wounds me far more deeply than having to give Erebor into the custody of my cousin."

Bilbo blinked. "I'm sorry to hear of it. Must've been terrible to come back just to lose her."

"It was devastating," Kíli said softly. "I still can't understand why we were reborn four years after we left. Why our _amad_ suffered so miserably waiting for our return just to die once she'd got us back."

"Neither can I," Fíli grumbled. "What was the point of Mahal visiting her dreams and telling her we'd come back if she wasn't going to get to stay with us?"

Larkspur once more put her hand on top of Kíli's in a comforting manner—just to comfort him, Dwalin knew, but still she touched him. Why in Mahal's name was a simple touch bothering him so?

"I know I never knew her," she said, "but maybe all she wanted was to see you again. Maybe once she'd seen you alive and well as Mahal had promised her you would be, that was all that mattered to her. Seeing you again. She held on just long enough to see his promise fulfilled."

"That still does not answer the question of why wait four years," Thorin grumbled. "The logic of that choice escapes me entirely. What was the One thinking? What purpose does it serve to make our loved ones suffer, to make us forsake our homeland?"

All eyes turned to him. "Do you regret coming back, Uncle?" Kíli asked. "After all, had we remained in the Great Forge, we'd be with those that matter most to us—including _Amad_."

Thorin captured Kíli's gaze with his own. "I do not regret my choice, for it enabled you and your brother to return to life. I just…"

He sighed, and it occurred to Dwalin that he'd never seen Thorin unsure of himself before… though he welcomed the distraction, for it diverted his mind from dwelling on a certain hobbit lass.

"I wish I understood his purpose," Thorin continued. "Though by no means am I a religious dwarrow, even I can see that there must be some great reason behind our return, for I do not think any amount of pleading on the part of our Maker would have convinced the One to grant us rebirth had he not had some greater design in mind."

"I think I see what you mean," Bilbo said slowly. "You want to keep the lads safe and your friends and family safe, so you've given up not only your kingship but also just living in Erebor. But hiding also rankles that Dwarvish pride of yours and even though you've made a conscious decision to attempt anonymity, you wonder how that thwarts the dark lord's plans because you're not openly saying 'Look, here we are, not dead anymore like you wanted.'"

Crystal blue eyes found the hobbit's, and suddenly Thorin laughed. " _This_ is also why I came here, Master Baggins. For that unique way you have of making a point."

Color filled Bilbo's cheeks and he looked down at the hands wrapped around his cup. Larkspur grinned at the praise of her cousin as she patted him on the shoulder and stood.

"I suppose since it looks like we're having company for dinner, I'd best scrounge something up for them," she said.

Bilbo looked up with a roll of his eyes. "You'd better scrounge up more than 'something.' Dwarves have very hearty appetites, dear cousin."

He looked around at them then and added, "At least I'll not be looking into a bare cupboard like last time you all came round!"

Dwalin laughed when the others did, and heard Kíli say as he followed Larkspur to the kitchen, "Only because there's eight fewer of us!"

Larkspur looked over her shoulder at him as she stepped up to the stove, where a large pot was beginning to boil. "Unless you're planning to help, go away."

He moved to stand beside her and leaned a hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his massive chest as he did so—and noted with pleasure the way her cheeks turned rosy.

"Tell me about yourself, Miss Took. Bilbo made no real mention of his family during our journey."

"What's there to say?" she countered with a shrug as she stirred whatever was in the pot. "My father is his mother's brother. Bilbo's seventeen years older than I am which means I've known him literally my entire life. He used to baby sit me when I were younger."

Dwalin mulled that piece of information over. He knew precisely how old Bilbo was, which made it easy to calculate Larkspur's age. Thirty-eight was practically a babe in dwarf terms, which for a moment crushed his spirit until he drew from a deep memory Bilbo's having said that his kin were considered adults and of age to marry at 33.

 _Great, so now you don't have to feel like a dirty old man for staring at her arse_ , his inner voice said with snark.

"Are you close with Bilbo?" he asked. "Knowing him he'll brush it off as a minor nuisance, but tell me honestly—have things been difficult for him since he returned home? You mentioned another relation trying to take his house before."

She put some bread in the oven to bake then turned and headed out into the atrium; Dwalin followed her to the cold cellar where she gathered what looked to be wrapped meat parcels before heading back to the kitchen. She buttered a baking pan before unwrapping the meat—steaks—and laying them on it, then she started adding seasoning.

"You're right," she said at last. "The Baggins in him will try to make it out as nothing, but the truth is his reputation's taken a blow."

Dwalin scowled. "How so?" he asked gruffly.

Larkspur looked at him. "People treat him differently. Where once he was widely respected, he's now considered weird. Strange. Odd. There are rumors flying round as to what all he got up to while he was away. Some folk that know he ran off with a bunch of dwarves think he's got a small hoard of treasure hidden somewhere in the house."

He thought of the six chests they'd brought in, and also how Bilbo had refused to take his fourteenth share—he took only a single chest of silver and one of gold, and declared the rest should go to the people of Dale in exchange for the Arkenstone as agreed. Dáin relented in honor of Thorin's word.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Know that the ruin of his good standing was not our intent, and that your cousin's actions on our quest were naught but honorable," Dwalin told her, feeling it suddenly imperative that she believe him.

She waved his words off with a flip of her hand. "Oh, I know all about what happened. Bilbo's told me the whole story. Well, most of it, I imagine. I've always suspected he left some things out."

After she put the pan of steaks into the oven, she moved to the sink and washed her hands, then turned to him. "I do hope this does not sound crass, but did those three really die?"

Dwalin nodded. "Sadly, that is true."

Larkspur glanced in the direction of the dining room. "Oi, no wonder Bilbo took such a fright at seeing them. Must've been strange for you too, I should think."

"Aye, it was… As Bilbo said, I was stunned," he admitted. "I've never quite been able to put into words the feeling that went through me when first I saw them again a couple of months ago—if there even are such words to describe it."

"But I suppose all is well now, right? Your kin are back with you, having been blessed by your maker."

He offered a smile. "Aye, that they are."

Her cheeks colored again and she turned her attention back to the stove. He could not help but wonder at why he was so drawn to this little lady hobbit, nor could he stay the hope that she was just as drawn to him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Surprise! I actually got another chapter written - a major accomplishment considering the week I've had.**

 **Anyhoo, I have three Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 20: Guest, Robinbird79, and dojoson 41. Thank you for your input! Thanks also to my latest favoriters/followers and everyone who's just reading along.**

 **Guest - I have to disagree, I don't think Dwalin's reaction was overdone at all. You have to keep in mind that he doesn't have the same emotional baggage that Kíli does. The reason Kíli's reaction to Tilda is so perfectly subtle is because he's still hung up on Tauriel and is completely blind to it. Dwalin does not have that problem impeding his emotional/physical reactions. He doesn't yet recognize it for what it is, but is still free to just react whereas Kíli isn't.**

 **Sophia Rose - Thanks for your reviews as well! No, this story is not a "Bagginshield" fic. I do not write slash fiction. I do hope, however, to flesh out their friendship and portray it as brotherly.**

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 **21\. Guests**

* * *

It was only when his heart had stopped pounding in his chest that Bilbo took note of the fact that each of his visitors still wore their cloaks and weapons.

"Forgive me being such a terrible host," he said as he abruptly stood from the table. "Why don't you take off those traveling cloaks and make yourselves at home?"

Thorin glanced at Fíli and Kíli and nodded, and they each rose and began to strip off their gear. They followed him to the parlor where he looked around, wondering where to put their things, and it was then he took notice of the traveling packs that had been set down in the foyer, as well as six trunks tied together two apiece.

He blinked. "Those chests look familiar."

"They should," said Kíli. "Those are six of the chests of treasure Glóin and Nori buried in the troll cave."

"Dwalin was sure someone had been there since us last time, as he says there were some missing," added Fíli.

"There were!" Kíli insisted. "Ten chests were buried—"

"I took them."

Bilbo watched their eyes go wide. "Well, actually I made Gandalf take them. He said I should take them, but I told him to use what was in the four chests we dug up to help people."

"That was a generous thing for you to do, Bilbo," Thorin said. "Serving folk other than yourself is proof that you have a kinder soul than most."

Dwalin came in from the kitchen at that moment. Bilbo silently thanked him for the distraction from Thorin's praise.

"Ah, there you are. I do hope you're not intimidating poor Larkspur—not that she's easy to intimidate, that one," he said with a laugh. "A Took through and through, she is."

The dwarf warrior cleared his throat. "I merely asked her to tell me about herself, as we'd not taken the time to get to know any of your kinfolk last time we were here," he said as he removed his own cloak and weapons.

"Ah, speaking of which… How long do you plan to stay?" Bilbo asked, directing his gaze to Thorin.

"Until spring, when the snows are gone," Thorin replied. "If it would not be an inconvenience to you, we would stay here in Bag End—but if you'd rather we didn't, we'll go to the inn."

"Oh no!" Bilbo cried. "You are all more than welcome to stay here, it's just I only have the one guest room with one bed…"

His voice trailed off as an idea came to him. "Well, there is the smoking room—it has no windows and I never use it, always seemed rather silly to have a room just for smoking in when you can smoke anywhere in the house. We'll have to get three more beds on the morrow, but if you all wouldn't mind sharing two to a room, there is plenty for you all here. I would be most glad to have you."

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, then his nephews, before settling his gaze on Bilbo and bowing his head. "Thank you, Master Baggins. You are most kind to shelter us through the rest of winter."

"And hey, Fee and I have shared a room before. It'll be like our childhood all over again!" said a grinning Kíli.

Dwalin snorted. "You haven't left your childhood yet," he grumbled. "Death did not change that."

Bilbo shuddered on hearing the word 'death', then squared his shoulders and showed the four dwarves the two rooms he had available for them to sleep in. Thorin and Dwalin claimed the smoking room, each declaring they didn't mind in the least that they had no windows to look out of.

"It'll be like living in the mountain," Dwalin said with a smile. "My apartment there had no windows, either."

"I can get it cleaned up for you now, while Larkspur's finishing—" Bilbo began, but Thorin cut him off.

"Nonsense. We will do it ourselves for having come upon you uninvited," he said.

"Oh, um, well if you insist."

"Fíli and Kíli will clean their room as well," Thorin added with a firm stare at the younger dwarves. "I expect you to keep it that way—do not return to the slovenliness of your younger years."

Bilbo was hard-pressed to keep from laughing at the innocent "Who, us?" expressions the lads adopted. But then he looked at them all and the laughter burst forth.

"Oh, how I have missed you," he said with a grin.

 **-...-**

Bilbo spent much of dinner recounting the last four years. He told them of his return journey from the east and subsequent visits to Rivendell, which he had been making once a year in the fall.

"I stay there the whole month of August. It's so peaceful there," he said. "A small number of Rangers always meets me at the border to the Shire so that I'm not traveling alone, and they always escort me back at the end of my respite. Elrond's sons are really lovely chaps—they remind me of you two, actually, though far more serious."

He hoped that Fíli and Kíli did not take offense at being compared to a couple of elves, and was relieved when they simply grinned.

"Too bad for them," Fíli said.

"Indeed, brother," agreed Kíli. "Who would want to be serious all the time?"

"Elves, apparently."

"Is that why your people look down on you now—because you like to visit with the elves?"

Bilbo glanced sharply at Dwalin to find a scowl on his face. He flicked his eyes to Larkspur where she sat beside him; her cheeks had turned a light crimson.

"I'm sorry, cousin," she said. "This fellow asked me how you'd been getting on, and I didn't think to tell him anything but the truth."

"What is she talking about?" asked Thorin.

When Bilbo didn't immediately answer he looked to Dwalin, who sighed and relayed what Larkspur had told him.

"Is this true?" Thorin asked. "Do your people treat you differently because you left to help us?"

Bilbo sighed. "Look, I believe I told you all before that I am a Baggins of Bag End," he began. "It is not in our nature to do anything more than care for our home and our family and our community."

"But you're also a Took!" Larkspur declared, pounding her fist on the table as she spoke. "Didn't you tell me it was the Took inside you what made you decide to go on your journey—that part of you that wanted to see what all was out there in the wide world beyond the Shire?"

At seeing the confused faces of his new housemates, Bilbo cleared his throat and said, "The Took clan are one of the very few hobbit families that rather seem to crave adventure."

Larkspur sighed. "I'd love to go on an adventure meself. Perhaps nothing so dangerous as confronting a dragon, of course, but at least _something_ that takes me out of the Shire for a while."

"You would leave your family?" Dwalin asked.

"Gladly!" she replied. "Long have I tired of the ridiculousness of my seven brothers, all of whom are older than I. Being the youngest and the only girl has not been a wholly enjoyable experience growing up. I'm sick of being molly-coddled."

Bilbo had to chuckle. "That's why she's taken to coming over here so often," he said. "To escape her father and brothers as I escape my nosy neighbors by going to Rivendell."

"You should take me with you next time you go," Larkspur said.

He shook his head; Larkspur had been pleading with him to go along to see the elves since his first return trip. "I told you before, I can't. Uncle Isembold would never allow it."

She turned in her seat to face him more fully. "Have you ever bothered to ask? Papa was thrilled when I told him about your adventure."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. Your father was so thrilled I'd gone that he bought my armchair and the ottoman that goes with it during the auction. I had to pay him _more_ than his winning bid to get it back."

"This news disturbs me," Thorin said then. "I would not have come here had I known the difficulties you've faced. I do not wish to create more."

Bilbo waved his words away with a swipe of his hand. "Oh, tosh. Think nothing of it, Thorin. I told you, I have missed you and you are most welcome here in _my_ home. The only reason anyone around here says anything at all is because they're bored—they all need something to gab about because their lives are so routine. Not that there is anything wrong with staying right here at home, of course. That was me once upon a time. But I've now seen the world, or at least a good part of it, and I honestly think every hobbit ought to go on walkabout at least once in his or her life."

"So take me with you when next you go to Rivendell," Larkspur insisted. "Go in the spring when the snow melts instead of waiting until the fall."

He eyed her with a discerning gaze. "Don't bug me about it anymore, and I'll consider asking your father if you can go along when spring comes 'round."

Larkspur's smile was brilliant as she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Oh, thank you! You won't regret it, Bilbo, I promise you!"

Bilbo only shook his head and steered the conversation away from Rivendell—though keeping Larkspur from asking questions was difficult when the dwarves spoke of their journey west and mentioned they'd had to send Dwalin there to seek Elrond's aid in fixing a broken arm of Fíli's. She was understandably appalled at their having to fight the orcs in the mountains, though she praised their courage in meeting them head-on.

He was not remiss to the dark look that descended over Dwalin's features when she paid special attention to one or the other of the younger two dwarves. Bilbo wondered what that was all about—was he not the one who'd sought her out for information earlier? Was he not pleased when she began asking question after question about dwarves and their culture?

Larkspur stayed through supper, but afterward he sent her on home. He figured Thorin and the others would be relieved to have her gone, but Fíli and Kíli surprised him by launching into a discussion of how refreshing it had been to speak with someone seeking knowledge of their people out of genuine curiosity and a desire to learn. They'd been happy to talk with her and both said they wouldn't mind spending more time with her while they were there.

Dwalin glared at them both behind their backs, then stormed off toward his and Thorin's room. Bilbo and Thorin both watched him go, then looked to each other with expressions of confusion on their faces. Fíli and Kíli soon retired to their room as well, arguing good-naturedly as to who was going to sleep in the bed.

That left Bilbo alone with Thorin, and they sat in a companionable silence smoking their pipes by the fireplace in the parlor. He could not help, as he'd done all evening, his gaze drifting to the dwarf's strong, chiseled features. Looking at him felt like a dream of his had come to life.

"I can almost hear the grinding of gears in your mind," Thorin said, and Bilbo noted his eyes held amusement in their depths along with a heavy dose of concern.

Feeling the heat of embarrassment color his cheeks, Bilbo cleared his throat and looked toward the fire as he puffed on his pipe.

"Forgive me," he said after a moment. "I'm still getting used to the fact that you are real and not a figment of my imagination."

"In a way I know how you feel, except for me it has been coming to terms with how much the world has changed in our absence."

"Such as Bard becoming a king when you have to give it up?" Thorin nodded. "Yes, I can see how that would rather stun you. And now he's married to Tauriel, of all people. Can't imagine that was easy for Kíli to hear of."

Thorin grimaced but it passed quickly. "No, it was not. Though even if… Even if their feelings for one another were genuine, I do not believe a relationship between them would have lasted long."

"Whyever not—just because she's an elf?" Bilbo shook his head. "Tauriel married Bard, and I gather from what Dwalin said that no one in Dale, Erebor, or Mirkwood gives two figs that they're not the same species. Love is love, Thorin. Plain and simple."

The smile Thorin offered him was placating. "I am afraid it is not so simple as that. In our society and hers they would have been outcasts—too many centuries of bad blood exists between our peoples."

"Then maybe it's time to start washing all that away. Or would have been, had the Necromancer not interfered," Bilbo suggested.

A light scoff emitted from his companion before he said, "I do not think the world is ready for such a pairing."

Bilbo studied him a moment before he asked, "The world, Thorin… or you?"

Thorin sighed. "Both."

Silence settled between them again for a few minutes, and then Bilbo was startled when Thorin suddenly surged to his feet. He looked up at him with confusion as the dwarf reached into an inner pocket of his overshirt and stepped toward him.

"I nearly forgot that I brought you something," he said.

Bilbo eyed the closed hand he held out. "Um, that really wasn't necessary, Thorin. For goodness' sake, your being alive again—the lads being alive again—is gift enough for me."

Thorin smiled. "Be that as it may, I wished you to have it."

With a sigh, Bilbo held up his hand. He was both surprised and humbled when Thorin dropped an acorn into his palm.

"Bard told me what became of the acorn you picked up in Beorn's garden," he said. "More than that, he showed me. I have seen the young tree that came of it—I was asked to tell you that the promise was being fulfilled."

Tears stung the backs of his eyes as Bilbo looked at the acorn in his hand. It was gratifying to learn that the other had indeed grown and was doing well, as he'd often wondered about it.

"That one also comes from Beorn's garden," Thorin went on. "When Bard showed me the tree and told me what inspired you to plant it, I found I could not pass the skinchanger's homestead without retrieving you another."

"This is… Wow. How incredibly thoughtful of you," Bilbo said, lifting his head to smile at him as he curled his hand around the oak nut. "Thank you, Thorin."

Thorin nodded. "You are most welcome, Bilbo." He then offered a brief smile before bidding him good night.

"Goodnight," Bilbo said in return, and watched as Thorin turned away and went into the hall toward the smoking room.

He remained in the parlor until his pipe was empty, and when it was Bilbo stood with a sigh. He placed the acorn on the mantel and banked the fire before walking tiredly to his own bedroom. Though he felt worn out from the emotional evening, sleep was long in coming to him.


	22. Chapter 22

**I am deeply sorry this chapter took so long to post. Real life interfered for a time, and also my Muse and I clashed.**

 **Last chapter's Rockstar Reviewers are: Celebrisilweth, Robinbird79, readergirl4985, SethadoreVGC, MDawn, IsabelleBrown, and dojoson41! Big thanks to all of you who are reading along.**

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 **22\. Looking for the Signs**

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It became clear straight away that while he enjoyed the company of visitors, Bilbo had long grown used to living alone.

The dwarves seemed to bump into him every time they turned around—or maybe he was bumping into them. No one was quite sure, but after a day or two of constant "Excuse me", "Sorry", "Pardon me", and the occasional "Out of the way", he seemed to have accepted that his house, for the time being, was no longer home to just him.

The dwarves, in turn, had to get used to living as hobbits do. They ate less at each meal, much to Fíli and Kíli's dismay, but overcame that disappointment rather quickly when they understood that it was because they would eat more often. Seven meals in a day seemed quite a lot until it also became clear that elevensies and afternoon tea were more for snacking than eating a full meal.

Three beds and a simple wardrobe for Thorin and Dwalin to share were purchased the morning after their arrival. Many of the hobbits they encountered that first day stared wide-eyed as the dwarves passed and would turn and whisper behind their hands. They heard Bilbo's name many times and remarks about how odd his behavior had become, as the townsfolk had no idea how sharp their hearing was. This bothered Thorin a great deal, even though he knew gossip was practiced among dwarves as well.

"At least my people have the decency to do so behind closed doors instead of in our presence," he muttered to Bilbo on the second day, when they'd gone to procure more meat from the butcher.

"Thorin, really, don't let it bother you. It doesn't bother me any," Bilbo had replied.

By the end of the first week of settling in, the four dwarves had also become somewhat restless. They'd already purchased new musical instruments for themselves, much to Bilbo's delight, and had played lively tunes each evening. But it was during the daytime that their minds sought occupation, something to keep them from going mad with boredom—not wholly unlike life in the Blue Mountains, save there were no hunts to organize or orcs to defend the borders from. Sparring on top of the hill had started on the third day of their residence, but each lamented a need for something more to fill their time with.

Bilbo suggested that they seek temporary employment in the village. This would not only keep them from suffering from cabin fever, but also help them get to know their neighbors—and reduce the amount of tongue wagging besides. Kíli, after a night of fun at the Green Dragon, asked the owner if he might work there in the bar and got hired for four nights of the week. Fíli, who had an interest in woodworking, was eagerly welcomed into the furniture shop which was always busy—even in winter. Thorin offered his services to Hobbiton's blacksmith, and Dwalin found himself a job at the butcher's when Mr. Bolger took ill, leaving only his wife to run the place.

A routine they all came to like was quickly settled on. All were up for breakfast, which Bilbo prepared and served at seven, and did calisthenics and sparring in between that and second breakfast. Then it was off to work for the dwarves until dinner time, when they all returned home—except for Kíli, who actually spent much of the day with Bilbo and went in to the Green Dragon just before dinner. They were into the second week before they knew it, with Yuletide coming in just a couple of days, and it was amazing to all who lived in Bag End how seamlessly the four new arrivals were fitting in once they'd put themselves out into hobbit society.

 **-...-**

Dwalin had sought work not only to ease the cabin fever that crept up on him, but to keep his mind occupied. For in much of his waking hours, he found his thoughts drifting to Bilbo's sassy young cousin.

Larkspur had come by for tea their second day in the Shire, and visited nearly every evening thereafter. He found out she was a schoolmarm who taught little hobbits how to read and write. It was a worthy profession, and it pleased him more than he cared to admit that he passed the school every day on his way to the butcher shop, for he saw her at the door welcoming the children in.

Each day he would smile at her and nod his head in greeting. She would blush and look down with a smile, and that pleased him even more.

What didn't please him was how fast she became friends with Fíli and Kíli, often talking and laughing and playing games with them whenever she came to Bilbo's. She didn't pay that much attention to him unless he was playing his viol, though he did often find her glancing his way whenever she thought he wasn't looking. Which was more often than was sensible.

What was _wrong_ with him? What did it matter if she was making friends with Thorin's nephews? They wanted—needed—to be on friendly terms with the hobbits so that their extended stay was pleasant for the whole community.

He was snapped from his musings by the sound of the door opening—accompanied by the sound of laughter. Dwalin had taken his pipe outside to smoke in the hope that the crisp, chilly air might clear his unsettled mind. It didn't help that the object of his obsession and her two new friends had just come out and flayed the little bit of calm he'd managed to achieve.

"Dwalin, there you are!" Fíli cried out. "Kee's headed to work, and Lark and I are going in to bug him for a mug or two. Care to join us?"

 _Lark?_ he thought darkly. _When did this start?_

"I think not," he replied, just barely scratching out a civil tone.

"Oh, come on you big oaf," Larkspur teased as she gave a push to his shoulder—when she did speak to him, it was often to call him that. "You look like you could use a drink."

"Or ten, with that frowny face," said Kíli.

"Go on, get yourself to work before Tarbo decides to sack you," Dwalin said, pushing to his feet and heading into the house.

Inside he found Thorin and Bilbo in their usual evening place—by the fire in the parlor. Bilbo was reading a book and Thorin was plucking lazily at the strings of his new harp. Both looked up on seeing him; Bilbo frowned and Thorin lifted one eyebrow.

"Dare I ask what has gotten into you?" his friend asked.

Dwalin bit back the sharp retort that came to mind, merely shaking his head as he took of his cloak and hung it on a peg.

He trudged back to their bedroom and shut the door, then busied himself starting a fire in the small fireplace. Moments later Thorin came in.

"Tell me what's bothering you, cousin," he said.

Dwalin frowned as he threw himself into one of the chairs they'd set before the fireplace to smoke in. Thorin crossed the room and sat in the other, his eyes on him, waiting patiently for a response.

The warrior dwarrow sighed. "I don't know what's gotten into me, truly," he began slowly. "But I think I know who."

"Larkspur is very lovely."

A snort escaped him. "I hope I'm not going to develop a desire to murder you as well," he said. "Bad enough I've imagined doing Fíli and Kíli harm."

"To be honest, I'm rather impressed you've held yourself in check this long," Thorin said, and Dwalin turned to him.

"She is very pretty," the older dwarrow went on. "And she isn't afraid to stand up to you. It's good she has a spine, as a mouse would not do well with you at all."

"I barely know her, and yet I cannot stop thinking about her. Whether I am asleep or awake, she haunts me," Dwalin bemoaned. "I cannot _stand_ that she pays more mind to the lads when she's here. I have been content in my bachelorhood, Thorin—have not even sought to lay with a female in more than a score of years—and in only two weeks, this one is all I can seem to think about."

He sat forward and dropped his head into his hands, his elbows braced on his knees. "What am I going to do?"

"Getting to know her seems the first step to take," his companion observed.

"She's a hobbit, Thorin."

"So?"

Dwalin looked up. "And you would allow it?"

Thorin snorted again. "The choice of whom you court is not mine, cousin."

"She is not a dwarf, same as Tauriel was not a dwarf," Dwalin pointed out. "Why did you object to Kíli's choice? Why is it okay for me to consider a mate outside our people but not your nephew?"

"Kíli's choice was a poor one. He became infatuated with the one who saved his life, as has happened to many a dwarrow in the past. Not to mention she was of the blood of our enemy."

Dwalin scoffed and shook his head. "Tauriel is not our enemy. Hell, the sodding elves as a whole are no longer our enemy—much as I am pained to admit that."

"Not now, but they were then. As I said to Bilbo, the world is not ready for a dwarf to love an elf," Thorin said firmly. "But Larkspur is not an elf, and though more subdued in their way of living hobbits are far more like us than any elf will ever be. Save for her beardlessness and penchant for not wearing shoes, she could very well _be_ a dwarf."

On that Dwalin had to agree. Larkspur was lively and spirited and not afraid to speak her mind. She had argued good-naturedly with the lads, bossed them around, and more than once she'd smacked one of them upside the head or punched them in the shoulder—her behavior and personality were indeed very much like a dwarrow dam.

There was also the fact that her people revered the wife of his maker. Some of them, Larkspur had said not long ago, even believed that they had been created by Yavanna as she had created everything that grew. If Mahal's bride really did create the hobbits as the Maker had created dwarves, then wasn't it possible he and Larkspur could have been made for each other?

"Get to know her, _iraknadad_ ," Thorin said. "Only then will you know if the flame that now smolders is truly the eternal fire Mahal ignites within us to recognize our One."

Dwalin nodded, knowing he was right. "Why me?" he said after a time. "I'm more than twice Fíli's age. Would not he or Kíli be a better choice for one so young as she?"

Thorin chuckled and shook his head as he stood. "For the answer to that question, you'll have to ask Mahal himself."

As he passed him by, Thorin gave a propitiatory pat on the shoulder, then left him alone again. Dwalin sat and stared at the low fire for several minutes before damning himself a coward and surging to his feet. He would bloody well go to that inn, and settle this madness once and for all.

Grabbing his small coin purse out of the bedside table, he tied it to his belt and headed out of the bedroom. He said nothing as he grabbed his cloak and threw it around his shoulders.

"Have a good time," Bilbo called out as he opened the door.

Dwalin only grunted in response before he stepped out and shut it behind him.

 **-...-**

When he stepped into the Green Dragon a quarter hour later, Dwalin's eyes immediately sought out the lady he'd come to see. They found her as she was carrying two mugs down an aisle—and narrowed as she suddenly stopped and yelped.

He felt a scowl coming over his face as he watched her turn, set the mugs down on a table, and then grab and twist the arm of a male hobbit.

The male squealed, which told Dwalin she was causing him pain. _Good for her_ , he thought smugly.

"Borno Boffins, if you smack my arse one more time, you're going to lose this hand—do you hear me?" Larkspur demanded.

"Yes, yes! I'm sorry!" Borno cried.

"You'd better be." Larkspur then threw his hand away and looked around the room, as though to make sure everyone else knew she meant business.

When her gaze landed on him, her lips turned up in a brilliant smile, and Dwalin's heart stuttered within his chest.

"Well if it isn't my favorite dwarf coming to drink with us after all!" she cried out, then looked to the bar where Kíli was serving drinks. "Oi, Kíli! Better pour another!"

Kíli was grinning as Dwalin looked over. "I'd better pour him two—you and Fíli are ahead."

 _My favorite dwarf_. Sweeter words could not have reached his ears in that moment. With a grin and a suddenly lighter step, Dwalin headed over to the bar, where Kíli passed him two frothy mugs of mead.

"You want another brew, just let me know," he said, then turned to take another order.

Dwalin pulled a couple silvers from his money pouch and laid them on the counter, then picked up his drinks and turned around. Larkspur and Fíli both were waving him over from a table toward the back.

When he reached them, he hesitated for only a moment before taking the chair next to Larkspur. Fíli looked from him to her and back again, then raised his own mug to his lips with a swift wiggle of his eyebrows—telling Dwalin he knew that the lady had been claimed.

"So what changed your mind, you big oaf?" Larkspur asked.

Dwalin snorted as he took a drink. "I think I like 'my favorite dwarf' better," he said.

She grinned. "The terms are interchangeable. I'm glad you joined us, Dwalin. Fíli's always a drag when his brother's not able to drink with us."

Fíli sat back with an indignant snort. "I am not!" he retorted. "Don't let her lie to you, Dwalin—you know better than she how I am in a pub."

"Aye, but usually Kíli's drinking with you, not serving them to you," Dwalin pointed out, feeling his dark mood lift entirely with the teasing. It was familiar.

He relaxed even more as the evening passed, once berating himself for his foolishness. He was a warrior, for Mahal's sake—a protector of kings! The possibility of courting a female should _not_ render one such as him a mass of nerves with a twisted tongue!

"You picked a good night to join us," Larkspur said, snapping him from his reverie. "There's a band tonight—should be a lively evening."

Dwalin looked at her. "Will you dance with me?" he challenged boldly.

She lifted her brows questioningly, though he could see by the way her lips quivered she was fighting a smile. "You dance?"

"Yeah, Dwalin—you dance?" teased Fíli.

"I'll have you know I've danced many a jig in my time," the warrior retorted.

"I've never seen you dance, let alone do a jig," Fíli remarked.

"Well you will tonight!" Larkspur said brightly. "I'm not letting 'im back out!"

Again Dwalin looked to her, and though he smiled he made his tone serious when he said, "I never back out on a promise—especially one made to a lady."

Three of Larkspur's brothers stepped through the door as the band was setting up and she frowned. Dwalin recalled that these were "the younger three", as "the older four" (how she often referred to her seven brothers) all lived and worked in Michel Delving, another hobbit town slightly southwest of Hobbiton.

"Just when I was having so much fun," she groused.

"Pay no attention to those knuckleheads," Dwalin told her. "Don't let them ruin your good time."

Larkspur studied him a moment, then downed what was left in her cup and grabbed his hand. "You're absolutely right," she said with a grin, before standing and pulling him up with her.

Dwalin could hardly think straight enough to listen to her words—he could only feel a fire burning through him, blazing hottest where her skin touched his. He followed her as though in a daze, wishing in the back of his mind that he'd paid closer attention to "the talk". He would then not be questioning the feelings and sensations he was experiencing.

He would just _know_ what it all meant.

 **-...-**

Dwalin could not remember having a grander evening. Whether it was the alcohol, his company, or a combination thereof, Larkspur was more attentive to him than she'd ever been. The only time she left his side was to visit the privy or dance with her brothers. Every other moment of the night she was by his side.

The three Took brothers each tried to get Larkspur to go home with them but she refused, declaring loudly that her favorite dwarf would escort her home when she was good and ready—and it was all Dwalin could do not to look smug when they all stared at him with questioning expressions.

He helped her on with her cloak when Tarbo and Kíli finally shooed them out—they were the last to leave. Even Fíli had gone back to Bilbo's near half an hour before. Larkspur slipped her hands around his arm when he offered it and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked out the door and down the road, and again Dwalin's skin seemed to burn wherever she touched him.

There were supposed to be signs a dwarf had met their one—that much he remembered. Never before had he gone this mental over a female, but he had forgotten the bloody signs! Was the fact that he could hardly get the thought of this little hobbit lass out of his head one of them? Was the fact that watching her interact with other males made him want to tear their heads off one of them?

Much too soon they were standing before her door. Dwalin did not want to take his leave but knew he had to.

"Well, are you going to kiss me or aren't you?"

His eyes widened at the bold question and he looked down into her lovely face. Her hazel eyes seemed a very dark gray in the dim light of the early winter moon, but they were bright, and searching his own for an answer.

Dwalin chuckled. "Well, now that I have your permission…"

"You've had it all night long, ya big—"

He did not give her a chance to finish the sentence; one hand was raised to clasp her gently at the nape of her neck while the other moved to her hip to draw her body flush against his own as his mouth descended on hers. Larkspur's hands curled around the edges of his cloak as she eagerly responded to the press of his tongue at the seam of her lips.

It seemed as though his entire body lit up the moment their mouths met, burning hotter even than the forges of Erebor. Dwalin gripped her tighter as the kiss became deeper and more passionate. Larkspur moaned with pleasure when he instinctively ground his hips against her, both of them immediately aware of how turned on he was.

The kiss lasted for both an eternity and not nearly long enough, though Dwalin broke contact at last lest he lose himself completely and take her right there. He could not—would not—mount her like a savage beast. Larkspur was too good for that. She deserved to be courted properly.

"I should go," he said, his voice thickened with desire.

"Only if you must," Larkspur replied, her tone evidencing her disappointment.

Dwalin growled softly. "Do not tease me so, _Kardûna_ ," he said, "for my control is weak. I will call on you at the school tomorrow."

"I look forward to seeing you there."

With a tight smile, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her brow, then turned swiftly and walked away before the sweet scent of her perfume made him change his mind.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Kardûna_ \- heart lady


	23. Chapter 23

**Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 22 are Robinbird79, IsabelleBrown, Eryn, readergirl4985, Laura Dannon, MiyonzMae, dojoson41, Guest, and readpink! Thank you all so very much for your faith and loyalty to these wonderful characters and the journey they're going on. Big thanks also to cal86229, ShadowgirlMeg, and readpink for clicking on the favorite/follow buttons!**

* * *

 **23\. The Talk**

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There were many noises to which a dwarf did not wish to wake. Chiefly among them were screaming, crying, and battle.

The one that Thorin was mortified to be woken by—which he realized seconds after he was roused from a deep sleep—was the sound of Dwalin pleasuring himself.

Grunts and moans arose from the direction of the other dwarf's bed, as did the sound of flesh upon flesh. He knew that sound as he'd done it himself, though it had been many years. But by the grace of Mahal he'd never heard _another_ dwarrow performing the intensely private act!

He prayed he would return to sleep so he could pretend he'd heard nothing. His silent pleas went unanswered, so he carefully pulled his pillow from under his head to muffle the sound. It helped only a little, and did absolutely nothing to prevent his hearing Dwalin's loud cries as he released.

Proof that the whole bloody house had heard was seconds later at their door.

"Uncle! Dwalin!" yelled Kíli as he banged his fist against the wood.

A sound of abject mortification issued from Dwalin's throat as Thorin finally rolled over. Horror was etched on the younger dwarrow's face as he hurriedly jerked his blanket into place over his lap.

"What's going on in there? Are the two of you all right?" came Bilbo's voice.

Rising, Thorin straightened his sleep tunic and strode to the door. He opened it only a fraction.

"Everything is fine. Dwalin foolishly startled himself awake with his own wretched snoring," he lied smoothly.

He could tell right away that his nephews did not believe him, but thankfully Bilbo—who still seemed half asleep anyway—appeared to take him at his word.

"Well," the hobbit said with a yawn, "if you're sure everything's okay…"

Thorin offered a smile. "I am sure. Dwalin would apologize himself but frankly he's embarrassed at having woken himself in such a manner. Go back to bed, Master Baggins."

Saying nothing more, Bilbo nodded as he yawned again and turned away. Thorin watched him trudge down the short hall that led to the pantry, and once he'd turned out of sight, he looked to Fíli and Kíli.

"How awake are you?"

They glanced at each other with eyebrows raised, then back to him. "Fairly so, I think," said Fíli. "Why do you ask?"

Thorin drew a breath. "Because I've no wish to repeat myself. Get in here."

He stepped back and opened the door wide enough that they could enter.

"Thorin, what in the name of Mahal are you doing?" Dwalin asked. "Am I to be humiliated further?"

"Hardly, _iraknadad_ ," he replied as he shut the door.

Fíli and Kíli sat on the edge of his bed and he moved to the two chairs before the fireplace, turning one around so that he could sit and face them all. He so did not want to be having this conversation, but in light of what had just happened, it would appear he hadn't much choice.

"It brings my heart much joy to note that Dwalin has found his One," he began slowly.

"Congratulations! You and Lark make a lovely couple," said Fíli.

Dwalin dropped his head in his hands. "Thorin, what are you doing?" he muttered.

"Giving you the talk—again. Had you paid any attention to it when your father spoke to you, you'd have been better prepared. What happened just now is what tells me you know nothing."

He glanced briefly at his nephews. Fíli looked curious while Kíli looked annoyed. He could not dwell on that—the boy needed the knowledge he was about to impart whether he wanted to hear it or not.

With a sigh, Thorin encompassed all three in his gaze as he said, "It is truly a blessing from the Maker for a dwarf to meet his or her One. There are many signs to alert you should this happen, some more subtle than others. When first you meet her, you will find her immediately enthralling, though you'll not understand why you are so mesmerized. Some aspect of her body or appearance you will find to be especially enticing. You will feel your blood warm simply being near her and you will feel as though you are burning anytime she touches you. It has been said that your mind will be consumed with thoughts of her."

"You didn't tell me that before."

Thorin looked over at Dwalin. "No, because at the time I was not entirely certain she was your One. I am now."

Dwalin frowned. "Just because I…?"

"I believe that sealed your fate."

Silence reigned for a moment or two. "What about when you kiss her?" Dwalin asked finally.

Thorin looked to him, his eyebrows raised for a moment before he softened his expression with a smile. "Then the firestorm will begin."

"What is the firestorm?" asked Fíli.

"The firestorm is the drive to complete the bond with she whom Mahal has chosen for you through bodily union," his uncle explained. "Once you have tasted of her flesh, you will dream of bedding her each night. The dreams are said to be intensely erotic—a dwarf is often driven to pleasuring himself multiple times daily until he can lay with his bride."

Fíli and Kíli looked at one another, surprise and understanding dawning on their faces in the light cast off from the fire at Thorin's back.

"Do you mean to tell me that Dwalin screamed because he…?" Kíli asked.

Dwalin scowled. " _Not. Another. Word_ ," he growled fiercely.

Fíli sniggered and covered it up as a cough. Thorin directed a scowl of his own toward his nephews. "Do not make light of this. I invited you in here to speak to you on a matter of utmost importance, should you be so fortunate as Dwalin. By rights your father should have had this conversation with you when you came of age as our fathers did us and saved me the grief; however, in his absence it is up to me to educate you. Just don't be as foolish as Dwalin and forget the signs."

He looked back to Dwalin again as he said, "The dreams will not be your only problem from here on out. Consummating the bond you share with her will drive your every thought—anytime you even look at her, you will want her."

"That will be nothing new," Dwalin scoffed.

Thorin shook his head. "This will be different. Believe me when I say it is a good thing you are a master of self-control, for you will have great need of it until you are lawfully wed."

"And when can he do that? Marry her, I mean. If she's even willing," Fíli wondered.

"Larkspur will be willing," Dwalin said with a sharp nod. "If the way she kissed me back is any indication, she'll definitely be willing."

He sighed then. "Durin's beard, I knew I was attracted to her from the moment I met her. Buggered the _kakhf_ out of me, as I've never thought about a female as much as I've thought of her these last two weeks. And when I kissed her, I wanted to _mahimril_ right then and there."

"Good thing you didn't—I imagine her father and the younger three would have burst out the door and tried to kill you," Fíli observed.

"Shut up!" Dwalin snapped. "I don't care about that, you snot-nosed brat! What I cared about—and still do—is treating her properly, like the lady she is!"

Fíli had the grace to look ashamed of his teasing. "I'm sorry. Of course you want to do right by her, Dwalin. I know that."

"By dwarf custom, you must both be of age before you can marry," Thorin said. "Though Larkspur is not by our standards she is by those of her people, so at least that is one less hurdle for you to overcome. Commonly a dwarf will engage in a period of courtship before asking his or her One to join him in holy union."

"But what about the dreams?" Dwalin asked. "I've only had one and I already woke the bloody house! I can't live like this, dealing with this…this _need_ …every single night for months on end!"

"I believe that's where the 'multiple times daily' part comes into play," Thorin replied. "Take care of yourself anytime you know you'll be seeing her, before you go. It won't make the desire go away, but it will make being in her presence more tolerable."

"What about when we leave?"

All eyes turned to Kíli at his softly spoken question. His gaze held Dwalin's as he said, "In a few months, once the snows thaw, we're supposed to leave for the White Mountains. What will you do then?"

Again there was silence. Thorin watched Dwalin stare Kíli down, then his countenance turned to his. "What will I do? What should I do?"

Thorin drew a breath. In that moment his friend seemed so much younger than he really was. "That you will have to discuss with Larkspur when the time comes. Perhaps before, so plans can be made either for you to remain with her here in the Shire or for her to join us on our journey."

"You would allow her to come with us if she's willing to leave the Shire?" Dwalin asked.

"She is your One, Dwalin. Her place is with you and yours with her," he replied. "Whatever you choose to do, I will fully support your decision."

His cousin raked a hand over his face. "I can't even think about that right now. I can't. All I can think about is her—wanting her. Needing her."

"And I think that is our cue to leave," Fíli said. He nudged his brother's shoulder as he stood, and stopped by Thorin's chair as he started for the door. "Don't worry, Uncle, I'm glad you spoke with us. Not sure I'll be as lucky as Dwalin given how rarely a dwarf finds their One, but I'm glad to know what to look out for."

Thorin acknowledged his words with a nod, and Fíli and Kíli took their leave. With a sigh he stood and returned his chair to its proper place, then moved to his bed and retrieved his pillow and blanket.

"Where are you going?" Dwalin asked.

"The parlor," he replied as he opened the door. Looking back over his shoulder he said, "I wish to get back to sleep for however long it is until breakfast, and you have…business…to attend to. I'd rather not have to listen to it again. Just try to keep the noise down so you don't wake the house again."

Dwalin's answer was to launch a pillow at his head. He just managed to dodge the soft missile before stepping out of the door with a laugh.

 **-...-**

Although he had slept little due to dreaming of Larkspur again…and again…Dwalin was up at dawn. He joined the others for breakfast with a stoic expression on his face which darkened the moment he saw the smiles on Fíli's and Kíli's. He kicked them both under the table as hard as he could and the smiles fell.

It was a few minutes into the meal that Thorin made his humiliation complete by asking Bilbo, "What is in that small room to the right of the entrance hall? I have never seen you go in there."

Bilbo blinked. "Um, not much really. I've stored some of my parents' belongings in there, things I can't seem to part with and that thankfully no one wanted when the Sackville-Bagginses were selling off my property. Why do you ask?"

"Last night may be the first time Dwalin's woken himself or the house with his snoring, but it is not the first time he has woken me," Thorin replied. "I was wondering if I might move into that room to avoid anymore such occurrences."

The hobbit wrinkled his nose in thought while Dwalin fought to tamp down the heat of his embarrassment. Though yes, he snored, he knew it was not the reason Thorin wanted his own room.

"I don't recall his snoring being that bad, but then it's been four years since I've slept in close proximity with him," Bilbo said. "I suppose if it truly bothers you that much, I can move that stuff to the storage closet."

Thorin nodded. "I will help you. And thank you, Master Baggins. I will finally get to sleep in peace and Dwalin will have the privacy to snore as he likes."

Dwalin wasn't stupid—he knew what Thorin was really doing. And while having to lie to their host bothered him, he was more appreciative of the fact that he didn't know the truth of what had happened, and that he'd be able to handle his private business without the chance of anyone else overhearing…so long as he could keep his bloody mouth shut.

"Dwarves snore, Thorin," he said casually. "Living in the same room with you has not entirely been a picnic, I'll have you know."

Thorin snorted in response. "You heard yourself if you heard anything at all. I do not snore."

"Um, actually, Uncle, that's not entirely accurate," spoke up Fíli. "I've heard you sawing logs loads of times."

"So have I," Kíli added. "Fee snores bad too, but not as bad as you."

Dwalin laughed when Thorin scowled. "Shut up and eat your breakfast," he said, earning laughs from his nephews and Bilbo as well.

Sparring after breakfast was hard to concentrate on. Once the ribbing had ended, Larkspur had one again taken over his thoughts. He couldn't wait to see her again, to discuss courting with her.

To kiss her again.

He prayed to Mahal he would be able to control himself. Already, just the thought of his mouth on hers had his body responding, his blood rushing through him at breakneck speed toward his groin.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_ he yelled at himself silently.

When he passed the school on the way to the butcher shop as per usual, Dwalin's heart swelled to see Larkspur where he always did: on the steps with the other teachers, welcoming the children in. Where before she would blush and look down, today she held her head up and not only smiled but lifted her hand in greeting.

"Good morning," she called out.

He nodded, a wide grin on his face. "Aye, it is indeed," he replied as he waved back…and only just resisted the urge to charge over to her to take her in his arms.

Thorin was right—just one look and already he was imagining taking her clothes off. Durin's beard, he thought as he hurried away, how the hell was he supposed to live with this monstrous desire for months on end? And really, how long—or short, if he had any say about it—was a courtship supposed to last? Did hobbits even do courtships as dwarves did?

He knew that a few dwarf couples in the Blue Mountains had chosen to be together not because they were each other's One, but because of mutual respect and a deep admiration for each other. They professed to love each other as deeply as they did their blood kin. One couple had married in as little as three months, while another couple's courtship had lasted a full year.

Having to wait to claim Larkspur as his wife, now that he knew she was his One (and not just because of the signs, he had known it in his heart the moment he kissed her), was going to kill him. At the very least, it would be a slow, painful torture to see her or be near her and know he could not yet have her. Would she be willing to agree to a short courtship?

For that matter, would she even be willing to marry him?

Dwalin was certain the answer was yes—he had _not_ imagined her response to his kiss. He had the feeling she was as eager to explore her feelings for him as he was to explore his for her. But he had to admit it was entirely possible—despite her desire for an adventure of her own—that she was not yet considering marriage. That she would not leave the Shire with him, for good, when it came time for them to depart.

If Larkspur wanted to stay, could he? Could he really give up the life of a warrior to be a butcher? Could he accept that he would be the only dwarf in the entire Shire?

These questions served to temper the lust that had hardened his flesh to near painful proportions. There was so much for them to discuss, questions that needed answered, matters that needed settled.

And most importantly, he needed to visit the forge so he could see about making a proper clasp for her courtship braid. Yuletide was tomorrow—he wanted to get it done so he could give it to her as a gift.

 **-...-**

Waiting for Dwalin to stop by the school as he'd promised had been agony. Larkspur had hardly been able to concentrate on helping the youngest hobbits with their writing and reading.

She was so relieved when her fellow teachers took the children out to play just after lunch—as she'd noted Dwalin heading down the road toward the school. Her hands became jittery and her heart pounded a rhythm against her breast. Would he kiss her again? Oh, Yavanna she hoped so. The dwarf was a wonderful kisser with a wicked tongue.

She'd dreamed about him the night before, and quite vividly. Never had she had such an erotic dream before, and she had woken wondering if real life could even come close to it.

When at last her visitor stepped inside, her heart's pace increased. What was it about this dwarf that unnerved her so? She was not a hobbit that was easily intimidated, and much to her father's dismay she prided herself on speaking her mind.

Larkspur studied Dwalin as he walked around the desks to the opposite side of the room. She noted his broad chest and shoulders, his thickly muscled arms. He had fairly long hair, which she knew was common for dwarves, though the top half of his head was bald and covered in tattoos; he had tattoos on the backs of his hands and forearms as well. He was not conventionally handsome (by the standards of hobbits that is)—the skin of his face appeared rough and weather-worn, a scar ran through one eyebrow, and he had an over-large nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. His right ear was missing a sizable chunk.

Nothing about him really resembled hobbit males, his height included. Dwalin and the other dwarves were a good foot taller than the majority of her people, most of whom stood only around 3 foot 6. Larkspur and Bilbo had surpassed the norm by somehow inheriting the height their great granduncle Bandobras Took was said to have had; both stood half a head taller than everyone else at 4 foot 2, a mere four inches shy of the hobbit who had been dubbed "Bullroarer."

She wondered if that was what attracted her to him—the fact that Dwalin was not a hobbit. That he was so very different than every other male of her acquaintance or the fact that unlike the male hobbits she knew, _she_ had to look up at _him_. She even wondered if it was merely her desire to know and see more of the world beyond the Shire that drew her to him.

Larkspur dismissed the last thought immediately. Had that been the case, why had she not become attracted to one of the other dwarves?

No, whatever it was, it was all Dwalin.

"I wish to speak to you about last night."

His deep voice drew her from her meandering thoughts. She noted that a serious expression had settled on his countenance—that and the fact that he'd chosen to stand clear on the other side of the room had her suddenly very worried that he regretted their kiss.

Clearing her throat, she asked, "What about it?"

Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest; the move set her heart to fluttering even faster, which she had not imagined was possible. It made his already massive shoulders even broader when he did that, and Yavanna knew how she'd come to admire his shoulders.

"Before last night, you gave more of your attention to Fíli and Kíli than you did to me," he began. "I need to know if it was only the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed that kept you by my side."

Larkspur took a step forward. "No, it wasn't," she confessed. "But it helped."

Dwalin frowned. "Care to elaborate on that?"

Twisting her hands together, she began to pace back and forth as she said, "You might have noticed that I'm rather forward and outspoken. I'm like that with everyone—it started as a defense mechanism once it became clear that I was outgrowing pretty much everyone I know, including my parents and my brothers, and I didn't want to be known as a freak. It is now a staple of my personality. Truthfully I rather like being brash because it's so unlike other hobbit females and I've come to like being different."

Larkspur paused and turned to him slowly. "I'm like that with everyone but you. Sure, I've snapped at you a time or two in the past fortnight, but as you said I otherwise pay more mind to the lads. And the reason for that is… well, because you make me nervous, Mr. Dwalin."

He frowned again as he lowered his arms. "You have no need to fear me, Larkspur. On my word of honor, I would never cause you harm."

"It's not fear," she returned. "I'm not afraid of you, it's just… I can't rightly say what it is as no male has intimidated me since I was a little girl. I think part of that comes from being so much taller than everyone else. Bilbo being the only hobbit I know whom I can actually look in the eye is probably why we're so close."

Pausing for breath, she drew a deep one and released it slowly. "Dwarves have fascinated me ever since Bilbo returned from his journey with you lot and told me about you. The moment I laid eyes on you all, I felt this great rush of excitement—until, of course, I'd seen what happened to poor Bilbo. But after he was sorted and you followed me into the kitchen, I found myself feeling nervous for the first time in years. It was both unsettling and fascinating at the same time. I wanted to get to know you to find out what it was about you that made me so…not myself, but those same nerves are what kept me from finding out. So I came by Bilbo's every night just about so I could be near you, in the hope that I might one of these days get up the gumption to really talk to you."

She looked down at her hands then, which in her nervousness she'd begun twisting again. "I'm rather ashamed, come to think of it, that it took me drinking too much to get up the nerve to be more myself with you."

Dwalin's heavy tread told her he was crossing the room at last, and she looked up just in time for him to stop right before her. A tentative smile was on his lips as he said, "I think I know what drew you to me—it is the same as what has drawn me to you," he said slowly.

"And what is that?"

He reached for her hands and gently pried them apart, holding them in his large ones—her hands were almost tiny compared to his—as he told her, "I think—nay, I believe—that you sensed that we are made for each other. Mahal, in his infinite wisdom, chose you for me. Or perhaps I was chosen for you by Yavanna, and what you felt was her way of telling you so. It could even be that they made the decision together—whatever the case may be, _Kardûna_ , I know in my heart and soul that you are my One. For me there will be no other female."

Larkspur blinked. "Your what? I don't understand."

"My One—my soulmate. The one being in all of creation who is my perfect match in every way. You are the ice to my fire."

Could he be right? Was it even possible that such a notion as having a soulmate was more than just fiction told in romantic tales?

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _mahimril_ \- make love


	24. Chapter 24

**Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 23 are Robinbird79, Guest, readergirl4985, readpink, and ValarenOfGondor! I'm chuffed you all thought that beginning was so funny—poor Dwalin!**

 **Guest - Although he joined Thorin and his nephews on their journey because he still regards Thorin as his king, now that he's met his One Dwalin's loyalty will be to her before anyone else. Even Thorin. His cousin and longtime friend recognizes that, which is why he told him he would support whatever decision he made. Dwalin's ultimately going to do whatever Larkspur chooses to do, and as she's already declared she has been craving her own adventure...wouldn't joining the dwarves when they continue their journey qualify? ;)**

* * *

 **24\. Negotiations of Courtship**

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Dwalin watched a series of emotions pass through Larkspur's eyes as she digested the information he had just given her.

His eyes drifted to her plump lips, which he remembered as being warm and soft. They had tasted of a mix of the food she'd eaten at supper, the ale she'd drank all evening, and something that he instinctively knew was uniquely her.

It took every single ounce of his willpower to not drop his mouth onto hers and kiss her again. Fighting the siren song of his body to just _give in_ to the desire burning through him was a need to hear her thoughts first.

"We barely know each other," she said at last.

Dwalin looked into Larkspur's eyes with a raised eyebrow. "And whose fault would that be, I wonder?"

A smile accompanied the blush that colored her cheeks. "All right, we've established I'm a bloody fool of a Took. Can we move on?"

"With pleasure, _Kardûna_ ," he replied with a grin.

Her brows knit together. "That's three times you've called me that. What does ' _kardûna_ ' mean?"

"First, know that the secret language of my people cannot be taught to one who is not a dwarf," Dwalin said slowly. "Should we take what I believe to be the inevitable step and marry one day, I think it would be acceptable to bend the rules a little—I will teach you my language if you desire to learn it, but only when you are my wife."

He drew a breath. "That being said… _Kardûna_ , literally translated, means 'heart lady' in the physical sense—don't ask me who the devil came up with that meaning. When I speak it to you, however, the meaning is different. Many a dwarrow has used the word to describe the lady who holds his heart."

The smile that lit up her expression melted him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. "It's a term of endearment," she said.

"Aye. That it is, and aptly it describes you for you now have my heart until the end of our days."

Dwalin was very happily startled when Larkspur suddenly took his head in her hands and drew it down to touch her lips to his. The firestorm begged him to deepen the kiss, to take the contact even further, but he held his urges in check. The sweetness of the kiss—just a soft press of her mouth to his—was actually just as stimulating in its own way.

More so was the fact that _she_ had kissed _him_.

When she stood back, her cheeks were once again rosy and Larkspur still smiled. "I don't know how dwarves do things when it comes to relationships," she said, "but as much as I like kissing you, I really would like to take the time to do things right. We've got to get to know each other before we take that 'inevitable step' you mentioned."

Dwalin grinned. "So long as you agree it is inevitable, I will do whatever you like. I desire to know more about you too."

"So does this mean you're my beau now?"

"Your what?"

She chuckled. "My suitor. Are we a couple now?"

He took her hands in his again. "I very much wish us to be, but it will not be official until I have made a clasp for your courtship braid."

Larkspur raised an eyebrow. "Courtship braid?" she queried.

It was his turn to chuckle, though internally he was suddenly nervous. Would she even wear the traditional braid in her hair?

"You may have noticed Fíli and Thorin have a number of braids in their hair," he said slowly. She nodded. "The braiding of hair—for that matter, the care of a dwarf's hair and beard in general—is a matter of great import to us. Braids often signify important events in our lives. For instance, from the day I was named a warrior, I had a braid to symbolize the event."

"But you have no braids now," Larkspur pointed out.

He nodded. "Aye. I cut the braid I'd earned at the very early age of twenty-five just two years later, in homage to all the dwarrow who fell at Azanulbizar. To cut a braid or one's hair or beard is only ever done as a gesture of respect or to shame one who has done a grievous wrong."

"Is that why Thorin and Fíli's beards are so short? Bilbo once said something about how he'd learned dwarves took great pride in cultivating long beards."

"That we do, and though I think Fíli actually likes keeping his trimmed—why I can't imagine—in memory of others is why Thorin keeps his short. I asked him once myself about it, and he told me that when he saw how dragon fire had singed the beards of his father and grandfather when Smaug first took the mountain, he cut his beard short in respect of the indignity they had suffered."

Dwalin paused and took a breath. "Although dwarf culture would allow for an immediate marriage, I will not rush you into something neither of us is truly ready for—though the waiting to have you as my wife will be difficult to endure."

It was clear by the look in her eyes that she did not understand why he felt that way. Dwalin realized he was going to have to go into further detail about what a dwarf endured when meeting his or her One.

"You see, when a dwarrow meets their One, he or she feels more than an emotional connection," he said. "It is physical as well. We endure what is called the firestorm, the drive to…complete our union."

Larkspur took only half a heartbeat to glean the meaning of his words. Her eyes widened in shock and though he sensed the move was involuntary, it still pained him when she drew her hands from his and took a step back.

"I'm not ready for that," she said. "Clearly I cannot say I do not desire you, but it's far too soon for such intimacy. I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," he told her. "I do not hold it against you that you need time to learn of me before you share yourself with me. But I wish to be nothing but honest with you, _Kardûna_ , and so am compelled to tell you it will be hard for me to be near you until the day I am blessed to lay with you. If, on occasion, I am short with you or I walk away from you—please, do not take it as a personal slight."

She mulled that over for a minute, then asked, "But we can still hold hands, hold each other…kiss each other, as most couples do? I don't want to do anything that will make things harder for you until such time as I am ready."

Dwalin smiled. "I said difficult, not impossible," he replied.

His heart swelled with the first stirrings of love when she returned to him and slowly wound her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her as she laid her head to his shoulder and said, "Good, because I rather like being kissed. Your arms around me feels good too."

"Feels good to me as well, _Kardûna_ ," Dwalin replied.

They stayed that way for a long moment, and though desire burned through his veins, Dwalin found that he was actually content to just cradle his beautiful flower in his arms.

"So," Larkspur said, "about this braid you spoke of. Tell me what it means."

"When a dwarf pair agrees to courtship, the male pleats a braid into the hair of his lady at the end of which he places a clasp he has made with his own hands," Dwalin explained. "Their courtship is not official until he has made it and can give it to her."

He carefully moved her back from him. "Will you allow me to place a courtship braid in your hair?"

Her gaze was thoughtful as she tilted her head. "Do I get to put a braid in your hair, or your beard?" she asked.

Dwalin blinked. That's not what was usually done—males generally did not add such a braid until the pair married.

"Do you want to?" he asked her.

Larkspur lifted a hand to his beard and ran the tips of her fingers across the end. "I think I would like to, if you'll let me. Then everyone will know you're mine."

The last she said with a grin and a wink. Dwalin laughed at the cheek, and nodded his head. "So be it. I will make two clasps, one for you and the other for me."

He sighed then. "I should go now, though Mahal knows I wish I could stay right here. But I have work to do, not to mention your peers and the little ones are like to be coming back in soon."

"For the very first time since I became a teacher, I don't want them to."

Dwalin laughed again. "Soon enough we will see each other again. If you can, come to Bilbo's for dinner or supper."

Larkspur smiled. "I'll make sure I do."

Lifting a hand to the nape of her neck, Dwalin held her in place and pressed his mouth over hers, only giving his need a taste by quickly darting his tongue out to trace the seam of her lips before he pulled back, then touched his brow to hers in traditional dwarf fashion.

"Until later, _Kardûna_ ," he whispered, his voice thick with the desire he was soon to lose the battle with if he didn't leave.

Dwalin hurried out so quickly he did not hear her response.

 **-...-**

After departing the school Dwalin went to Bilbo's, where he searched through the chests of treasure from the troll cave to find the perfect jewel to add to the clasps he would make. He took also a couple of silver coins, which he planned to melt for the clasps themselves. Afterward he returned to the butcher shop and buried himself in his work, before leaving early to head for the forge. There he greeted the hobbit blacksmith before taking Thorin aside and explaining what he planned to do. Thorin congratulated him on successfully negotiating his courtship before he left him to work.

It was there that his friend found him much later. He had just declared to himself that the clasps he had made were perfect when Thorin re-entered the otherwise empty forge.

"Dwalin, you've been here for hours—you've missed dinner," he said.

Dwalin looked up toward the small window across the shop and noted it was dark outside. "Blimey, is it that late already?"

Then a horrible thought crossed his mind and he jumped to his feet. "Have I missed her? Did my flower depart thinking I was not coming?"

Thorin lifted a brow at his description of Larkspur, but said only, "No, she waits for you still—though I am certain I am not mistaken in believing her disappointed she has had to wait to see you again."

They stared at one another for a moment before both loosed a laugh. "Durin's beard, I've gone and done it, haven't I?" Dwalin said, cradling the clasps in his hand. "Gone and done the unimaginable—I've fallen in love."

His companion's expression sobered, though he offered him a small smile. "I am truly happy for you, _Iraknadad_ ," Thorin said. "Now you, too, have been blessed by the Maker."

He had, hadn't he? Larkspur and the love that he was sure would grow between them were gifts from Mahal he had never let himself believe would ever be his.

Dwalin held his hand out and showed Thorin the clasps. "What do you think of these?"

The other dwarf leaned his head down and studied the small silver cylinders, each of which bore a piece of ruby. "Simple always was your style, but why are there two?"

A snort escaped him before Dwalin replied, "Larkspur has asked to put a courting braid in my beard, so that everyone will know I am hers."

Thorin's expression shifted, and though his smile remained, it was not as bright as it had been a moment ago. "Who else does that remind you of?" he asked.

As soon as the words were said he knew, and a bittersweet feeling overcame him. "I'm sorry. I'd forgotten Dís made Síli wear a courting braid as well."

Thorin reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do not be sorry for doing what will make your One happy, Dwalin. The memory stings, but it is also a pleasant one. And it proves that Larkspur is a perfect choice for you, if she already acts as one very determined dwarrow dam once did."

Dwalin drew a breath and nodded, then put the clasps in his pocket. He and Thorin closed down the forge and headed quickly to Bilbo's, where as soon as they entered he heard,

"It's about time you got here, you big oaf. We were about to have our supper without you."

He could not help but grin, and after removing his cloak he hurried to sit beside her at the table, already laden with food for the night's final meal. It was torture to sit beside her, their bodies near to touching, but he gladly endured it for the sake of being close to her.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, _Kardûna_ ," he said.

"Just so long as you're sorry," she deadpanned, though the corner of her mouth twitched even as she closed her eyes and whispered her usual mealtime prayer to Yavanna.

Though he battled desire while he fed his appetite, Dwalin nevertheless enjoyed the meal more than he had any other in years. Larkspur was delightfully more attentive to him—though she fell quiet a time or two, clearly to his eyes by virtue of the nerves she had spoken of, she conversed with him easily. He hoped that over the course of their courtship she would conquer her nervousness where he was concerned.

It was time for her to depart for home far too soon, and though she more often than not eschewed the need for an escort—Kíli or Fíli had still done so on occasion, as her family's house was on the way to the Green Dragon—Dwalin nevertheless voiced his intention to accompany her. Larkspur made no objection and even smiled at him, and so they quickly donned their cloaks and were out the door.

They did not speak as they walked, her hands securely wrapped around his arm, and when they reached her door there was no need for words. Dwalin gave in to the urge that he had battled all evening and drew her to him for a deep kiss. Larkspur moaned with pleasure as his mouth plundered hers, her hands fisted in his cloak as they had the first time.

He didn't know how many minutes had passed when they finally separated, each panting for breath as he touched his forehead to hers. "Yuletide is tomorrow, _Kardûna_ ," he said, his voice husky with the restraint of his need. "If you are agreeable, I shall pleat your courting braid before supper."

"And I yours," she replied. "I very much look forward to it, Dwalin, and I admit that I am growing ever more excited at the prospect of being courted by so fine a gentleman as you."

Dwalin snorted lightly as he lifted his head, and smiled down at her as he said, "I am hardly a gentleman."

Larkspur lifted an eyebrow. "Oh really? So there is wickedness lying under all that muscle and sinew? Will you corrupt me before we are wed?"

He stifled a groan and grinned. "Do not tempt me, for I wish to retain my honor and your reputation." He then leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I will, however, corrupt you as much as you like afterward."

She trembled in his arms at the words, which pleased him immensely. Dwalin then kissed her brow softly and gave her a little push toward the door. "Go on inside now before your father or brothers come searching for you."

Larkspur nodded and with a smile and a wave, she went inside her home. The warrior dwarf tipped his head back and allowed the suppressed groan to escape—courtship really was going to kill him, he thought—then huffed out a breath and started back for Bilbo's.

He did not expect to find his hobbit host sitting outside on the bench by his mailbox when he returned. Though it was dark outside Dwalin could see well, and the look Bilbo turned up at him bespoke of a desire to have words. As he could not think of anything he had done to offend him, he had little idea what the fellow might have to say.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose, then huffed out a breath and stood. "Based on your behavior at supper tonight, I want—no I need—to know what your intentions are."

Dwalin frowned. "My intentions?"

"Towards my cousin," the hobbit said. "Larkspur is young and impressionable still, Dwalin. You know she craves her own adventure and you represent everything she's ever wanted. I'll not stand by and watch you lead her on, only to break her heart when you all leave in the spring."

A surge of annoyance rushed through him but Dwalin quashed it immediately. Bilbo had every right to be concerned, and he knew he was like to get more of the same from her father and brothers when he declared his and Larkspur's relationship at the Yuletide celebration tomorrow.

But although he respected their relationship with his One, he admitted to himself that Bilbo's good opinion mattered more to him.

He drew a breath in preparation to defend himself. "Master Baggins, I beg you not to be concerned. Larkspur is my One—the mate chosen for me by Mahal himself."

Bilbo shifted his feet and blinked. "I'm sorry, say that again?"

"My people believe that we each have a perfect spouse chosen for us by our Maker," he explained. "Though not every dwarf is granted the good fortune to meet his or her One, it was destiny that I return here, Bilbo, for mine is your sweet cousin. No doubt Yavanna had a hand in it as well, for she whom your kin revere is the bride of Mahal, if you'll recall."

An eyebrow rose on Bilbo's face. "A dwarf and a hobbit…made for each other?"

"Why not?" Dwalin countered. "Whether you choose to believe in such a concept is up to you; just know that I believe in it, and I think Larkspur does as well. You have my word of honor, Bilbo, that I will never intentionally cause her harm in any way. Already I find myself falling in love with her."

Now the hobbit's eyes widened. Dwalin had admitted as much to Thorin earlier and he could not regret saying the words, then or now. Every time he was near her, every time he saw her smile, every time he kissed her…he fell a little more in love with Larkspur Took.

"What about when you leave in the spring?" his host asked finally.

"I have not yet discussed it with her, for we have only recently declared ourselves to one another," Dwalin told him. "But I assure you that what happens will depend on Larkspur's choice. If she wishes to remain here in the Shire with her family and friends, so will I. If she desires to go with us, she is more than welcome. For her place is with me and mine is with her, wherever that may be."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose again as he placed his hands on his hips, and for a number of minutes he just stood there studying him. The next thing he did was raise his hand to point at him and say, "If you break her heart, you'll have me to answer to. Do we understand one another?"

They both knew that if ever they were to engage in combat, Dwalin would defeat Bilbo in a matter of seconds. That he knew this and threw down the gauntlet anyway greatly raised the dwarf's opinion of the hobbit, for it was an honorable male who would stand for a lady and lay such a challenge before an opponent he could never hope to overcome.

Dwalin bowed his head respectfully, then said, "I understand perfectly."


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you very much to the Rockstar Reviewers of chapter 24: readpink, readergirl4985, and Robinbird79. Thanks also to Vicki who reviewed chapter 23 after my last update and to Alaksandra, Amarix, and jubes-zeg for favoriting/following!**

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 **25\. Declarations**

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So far, things were going well.

Larkspur had been quite nervous about her father and the younger three joining her and Bilbo and his houseguests for the Yuletide meals, especially after Dwalin had told her he would pleat her courting braid that night. It was not that she didn't want them to know—their knowing she had accepted his suit was inevitable—it was that she genuinely feared what they might say about it.

Tooks they might be, with a touch of natural wanderlust in their blood, but no one in her family had actually stepped foot out of the Shire since Bullroarer—save for Bilbo. And while they'd been fascinated by Bilbo's adventure enough to be more welcoming than some to his friends, the fact that she'd chosen a dwarf and not a hobbit might not sit well with them.

Still, thus far the time had passed amicably. Her father and brothers (the older four having chosen to remain in Michel Delving due to the snow) and the four dwarves were conversing good-naturedly about the differences between living in hobbit holes versus living in a mountain. She and Dwalin had stolen glances and shared secret smiles, and no one in her family had noticed.

Except for Bilbo, of course. She'd caught a few knowing looks from him, and deemed it time to head into the kitchen to finish up the last of the food.

Footsteps sounded behind her as she was preparing to put a cake in the oven. Larkspur turned around and found Bilbo watching her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'll have the jamberry wine out in a moment," she said as she turned back to the counter.

"That can wait," Bilbo said as he came closer. "Lark, I want to talk to you about something."

She lifted a brow as she looked over. "About what?" she asked. _Stupid question_ , she followed it silently. _You know exactly what he wants to talk about_.

"It's uh… It's about you and Dwalin," he said slowly. "Your father and brothers might not have noticed the way you two have been looking at each other, yet, but they're not going to be blind to it all night."

Larkspur felt her cheeks flaming even as she smiled. Before she could say anything, however, Bilbo laid a hand on her arm and asked softly, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "I am sure. I can't rightly put my finger on it, Bilbo, but there is something that draws me to him I cannot say no to. And I do like him—he's been nothing but kind to me, putting up with my nonsense."

"Fíli and Kíli put up with your 'nonsense', as you call it," her cousin pointed out. "Thorin does as well. Why not one of them?"

She chuckled. "Because Fíli and Kíli are too much like me and Thorin tolerates my brashness as he does theirs—like a doting uncle."

Turning to him fully she asked, "Is there some reason you don't wish me to be courted by Dwalin? Has he done you or someone else some grievous slight that makes him unworthy in your eyes? What's wrong with him that would make one of the others a better choice?"

Bilbo sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Dwalin's done nothing wrong, not to me or anyone else so far as I know," he said. "He's as good a choice as any of the others—and before you ask it's not the age difference, as Thorin's older than he by more than twenty years and even the lads are old enough to be your father."

Larkspur crossed her arms. "Then I fail to understand your objection."

Her cousin crossed his own arms and stood with one hand stroking his chin, appearing to think how best to put his thoughts into words. At last he looked to her and said, "It is not so much that I object to him as a potential suitor—I don't bloody care that he's a dwarf and you're a hobbit. It's just that I suppose I've never imagined him even desiring to marry. He's so…gruff. He doesn't trust easily and suffers fools not at all. He can be mighty dangerous when crossed."

Bilbo sighed, his expression becoming tender and concerned. "Dwalin's loyalty to Thorin, in my experience, comes before all else. Forgive my concern, Lark, but I fear that despite his assurances, he will choose to follow him when Thorin and the lads depart in the spring, leaving you standing on the border of the Shire with your broken heart in your hands."

"Do you truly trust me so little that my word of honor is not good enough?"

The sound of Dwalin's deep rumble caused both of them to jump. Larkspur recovered quickly and smiled at him; Dwalin returned the gesture briefly, then his eyes returned to Bilbo.

"For Yavanna's sake, Dwalin, don't do that!" Bilbo exclaimed, then wrinkled his nose as he tilted his head to the side and studied him. "Matter of fact, how _did_ you do that? I've learnt the tread of every one of you dwarves in the last two weeks—how'd you sneak up behind us like that? I didn't even hear you."

"I can be light of foot when so desired," the dwarf replied, then uncrossed his arms and walked over to stand next to Larkspur. She looked up at him with another reassuring smile and slipped her hand into his.

Her heart sped up when he flexed his fingers ever so slightly around hers. His eyes, however, remained on her cousin, and so she looked back at him as well. Bilbo glanced down at their joined hands, then sighed as he ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Dwalin, you have to understand… When we first met, you didn't trust me," he said. "None of you did. And I'll be honest in that I found it hard to trust you all."

"But we all learned to trust each other in the end, did we not?" Dwalin asked.

"Aye, we did, but it's been four years since I've seen you," Bilbo replied. "For that matter, it's been four years since I've even heard from you or anyone in the company. I haven't even seen Gandalf but once in the last four years, and that was more than a year ago when I was in Rivendell.

"It has not even been a full fortnight since your return. You barely know each other and your feelings could change by the time spring comes 'round."

Dwalin shook his head firmly. "I told you last night that Larkspur is my One," he said. "When a dwarf meets that one person chosen for him or her by Mahal, there is never anyone else. My heart and mind are set."

"And I told you, cousin, I like him," Larkspur added. "But you're right—we don't know each other that well, which is why we've decided on a proper courtship, to give our feelings for each other time to grow."

"And what about when they leave, hmm?" Bilbo pressed, looking between them. "What happens then?"

"I told you it would be her choice whether to stay or to join us, and that if the former was her desire I would remain in the Shire with her," Dwalin said.

"And I honestly can't say what I'll do at this point," Larkspur told him. "I know I said I wanted to go on my own adventure someday, but even then I always imagined I'd return home. I know this is going to be different—that leaving with Dwalin and his kin would be leaving the Shire behind forever. I can't make that decision now, but by the time they're ready to go, I'm sure I will have."

Bilbo studied them both for a long moment, then heaved another sigh. "Please forgive me," he said. "It's just that I can't help being concerned for you. You're still so young, Lark, and you're the most like me of anyone in the whole of the Shire. If you leave with him, who else will I share my stories with? Who will accompany me to Rivendell every year?"

Ah, so that's what this was really about, she mused. While she was certain some of it was concern for her heart, at the core of it all Bilbo was afraid of losing his closest friend. Larkspur rushed forward and threw her arms around him. After a moment's hesitation, he returned her embrace.

"Cousin, I make you this promise," she said, feeling emotion beginning to tighten her throat. "Should I go with Dwalin to the White Mountains, I'll make him bring me back here every year. I won't let it be forever."

"Nor will I," added Dwalin. "I would not dare to keep my love from her home and her kin."

She felt Bilbo's arms tighten around her momentarily before he let her go and stepped back. A hand was then raised to his eyes and a little sniffle escaped him.

"You've been chopping onions, I think," he said. "They're making my eyes water."

Larkspur grinned. "I'll get them into the stew before I bring out the wine," she said.

"Good, good." Drawing a breath and squaring his shoulders, Bilbo looked up again, and at last she saw him smiling. "Believe it or not, I am happy for you, Larkspur. You will find no better protector in all of Middle-earth than Dwalin."

With that, Bilbo turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. Larkspur sighed and turned around to find Dwalin staring at her.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"If Bilbo's so concerned, what do you think your family will say?"

Her brows drew together. "Does it really matter?"

"To me, no," he said. "I don't care if they like me, I only care that you do. But I'm fairly certain their opinion will matter to you. I wish you to be comfortable with your choice. To be sure I am who you want."

Stepping up to him, she took his hand again. "I do want you," she assured him. "I'll admit I've some concerns about what Papa and the boys will think, but while their opinions do matter, this is ultimately about what _I_ want, what will make _me_ happy. And just so you know, I'm not one of those fickle girls who only wants a fellow right now but worries her feelings could change in a few months. When I want something, I usually go for it. I'm not going to concern myself with the future just yet—I want to live in the here and now, and right now I'd very much like it if you'd kiss me."

Dwalin thankfully did not hesitate to comply—with a little tug of her hand he drew her to him, then lowered his head to capture her lips. Larkspur smiled against his mouth and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She happily let him.

It was with a deep groan that he pushed her away a moment later. " _Kardûna_ … I must go before I lose myself in you," he said, his voice thick with restraint.

She had felt the proof of his desire against her belly, and while intrigued by the feelings his hard flesh stirred within her, she was still not quite ready take that step—not to mention that she had a houseful of hungry males to feed and hadn't the time even were she so inclined.

"But before I leave you, I want to give you this," Dwalin said then.

Larkspur looked at the hand he held up, in which lay two small silver cylinders, each inlaid with a red stone.

"Is that…is that a ruby?" she asked.

Dwalin smiled. "Aye, 'tis the same ruby, split in two," he replied. "Unless you no longer wish me to wear a braid and show everyone I am yours?"

"Oh no," she said with a grin. "I'm not letting you get out of it. Now who goes first?"

"Well, as males do not typically wear a courting braid, I shall give that honor to you, my dear."

Her grin widened and she eyed his beard with a discerning gaze. He wore it split in the middle, but the middle seemed the best place to her to put a single braid. Larkspur turned toward the sink and quickly wet her hands, then returned to him and gathered his beard, drawing it together. Dwalin closed his eyes and breathed deeply as she ran her fingers through the hair to make it more compliant, then deftly wove a short braid down the exact middle of his chin. She then took one of the small silver clasps and opened it; wrapping it around the end so that the ruby was in front, she closed it and then smiled.

"All done," she said softly.

He opened his eyes and looked down, then lifted one eyebrow. "Doesn't look so bad," he said, then looked up at her and smiled. "Now, turn to the side if you will."

Larkspur did as he asked. Having worn her hair down in preparation for this moment, she breathed deeply as he asked her to hold the second clasp. When she had it in hand, Dwalin carefully sectioned a swath of hair over her right ear and much to her surprise—given the thickness of his fingers—nimbly pleated her braid. When he finished and had put the clasp around the end, he lifted it to his lips.

"Now you are mine," he said.

"Now you are mine," she echoed, then looked down at the braid laying over her shoulder. "I gather I'm not supposed to take this out at any time?"

"Only to wash your hair, and then it must be immediately remade," Dwalin answered.

"And do I wear my hair up or down?" Larkspur asked. At his questioning eyebrow lift, she added, "Well, you're sacrificing your comfort to give me a proper courtship, Dwalin. I want to honor what you are doing for me by adhering to your customs regarding what to do with the braid I wear."

He smiled widely at her. "It pleases me more than I can put into words that you desire to follow our customs," he said; she noticed that when he spoke it caused the braid in his beard to dance. "Your hair can be worn up or down as you like, so long as the braid and clasp are visible. Many a dam who goes through courtship will often leave their braid hanging over their shoulder when their hair is up."

"I'll remember that," she said with a nod, then looked around the kitchen. There was still so much food to be prepared for the last meal. "You should go and leave me to my misery now. I've so much more food to make for all you hungry buggers to try and fill those empty pits you call stomachs."

Dwalin laughed, then placed one hand at her neck to hold her still as he touched his brow to hers. "Welcome to life with dwarves, my love," he said softly, then he kissed her before he left her alone again.

While she worked the kitchen heated up, and so Larkspur pulled her hair back with some string, leaving her new courtship braid over her shoulder. It was not long after she began bringing in the completed dishes to the atrium—where two tables had been placed end-to-end to accommodate the ten of them—that the youngest of her brothers took notice.

"Oi, sis, what's that?" asked Irving, pointing at her dangling braid as she set a large pot of stew on the table.

Larkspur straightened as her father said, "Yes, where did that come from? I don't remember there being a braid in your hair, deary."

She glanced at Dwalin, then Bilbo, and then back to Dwalin before taking a breath and looking to her father once more. "That's because there wasn't one, until a short while ago," she said slowly. "'Tis called a courting braid, and it shows everyone that I am now spoken for."

"Wherever did you get that silly idea?" asked her brother Loras.

"Who's the lucky hobbit?" her father queried.

Larkspur noticed that all the dwarves bristled at her brother's question. It annoyed her as well, and ignoring her father for the moment, she fisted her hands on her hips as she glared down the table at her parents' sixth-born son.

"I'll have you know, Loras Took, that it is not a silly idea at all! It is an ancient courting tradition that dates back thousands of years!" she declared, her eyes flicking to where Dwalin sat next to Thorin, both of whom nodded slightly in confirmation.

She drew a breath, prayed to Yavanna for courage, and turned to her father to say, "And it is not a hobbit who courts me. Master Dwalin has asked for the privilege and I said yes."

Her brother Merroc shot to his feet. "I _told_ you she was spending too much time over here, Father!" he declared loudly. "Our foolish cousin and his miscreant friends have corrupted Larkspur!"

At this, all four dwarves jumped to their feet, as did Bilbo. Loras and Irving stood as well and a loud argument ensued. It raged for several minutes, Larkspur holding her father's stern gaze all the while, until she felt tears threatening and she looked away from him. She then grabbed the wooden spoon from the pot of stew and began to bang it against the side, harder and harder, to be heard over the ruckus. The last strike caused the spoon to break in half, one piece launching into the air to the startled amazement of the arguing males.

" _That is enough!_ " Larkspur yelled. Her gaze roamed over each of them, lingering on her brothers. Her angry, hurt expression had Merroc blinking as she said to him, "Merroc Took, you owe Bilbo an apology. You owe his guests an apology. And you bloody well owe _me_ an apology. They have none of them corrupted me and as a grown hobbit it is my own choice whom I should accept as a suitor!"

She shook her head and looked toward the ceiling, her pain once again causing tears to prick the backs of her eyes. Larkspur fisted her hands at her hips as she blinked rapidly to dispel them. Unfortunately, the moment she looked back at Merroc she lost the fight and a tear fell from each eye. Movement to her left told her that Dwalin was coming around the table, but she kept her focus on her rotten brothers.

"How dare you?" she seethed. "How dare you come into another hobbit's home and insult him—insult his guests? How dare you insult your own cousin or your own sister? And for Yavanna's sake, how bloody _dare you_ insult the memory of our beloved mother by behaving so abominably? She would be so ashamed of the three of you right now."

Merroc, Loras, and Irving had the grace to actually _look_ ashamed. The three of them glanced down at their plates, no longer able to meet her withering stare. At the moment she felt Dwalin's warm hands come to rest lightly on her shoulders, Isembold Took stood from his seat at last.

"Boys, you head on home now," he said.

His sons did not argue. The three trudged silently down the hall and turned into the entryway; moments later, they heard the door open and close.

"Mister Dwalin," said Larkspur's father, drawing everyone's attention to him once more. "I would like to have a word with you, if I may."

Larkspur looked over her shoulder at him. The look he sent her was probably meant to be reassuring, but it did nothing to soothe her sudden worry or the pain she felt at her brothers' actions. Especially Merroc, that horrible little snipe…

Dwalin touched his lips to her temple briefly before saying, "I shall return shortly."

She nodded, then watched with trepidation as her father turned and walked in the direction her brothers had gone. She watched as Dwalin followed, and it was not until they heard the door open and close a second time that she dropped into the nearest chair, her lips trembling and tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Thorin quietly directed his nephews to retake their seats, then he did the same. Bilbo also sat at last, and all four of them turned their eyes to her.

It was Bilbo who spoke first. Reaching for her hand, he grasped it tightly. "Do not worry, cousin. All will be well."

Larkspur sniffled. "He should not have said that. He was horrible."

"Aye, that he was. I must say, I did not think Merroc had such a low opinion of me."

"Or that he was prejudiced against dwarves," she added bitterly, then turned her eyes to the three that remained. "I am so terribly sorry you and your people were insulted."

Thorin smiled softly. "Do not feel you must apologize, Madam, for the words were not yours," he said. "In fact, I thank you for speaking so passionately in our defense."

Kíli stood and handed her a napkin. Larkspur nodded her thanks and used it to wipe her eyes, then she blew her nose. "I'm worried now. I'm worried that Papa won't let me visit anymore, that he won't let me continue a courtship that hasn't even really begun."

"Would he really do that?" asked Fíli.

" _Can_ he actually do it?" wondered Kíli.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "By hobbit custom, no," he said. "As Larkspur is of age—and has been for five years—she no longer requires his permission. The choice of whom she courts is hers. He can, however, make things difficult for them. The Tooks, for all their eccentricities, are a large and powerful family among hobbits. Uncle Isembold knows a lot of people in the Shire and if he so chooses, he can see to it their courtship is not a pleasant one."

She wanted nothing more than to sob on hearing those words, but Larkspur fought the urge. She could not stop more tears from falling, but she would not completely fall apart in front of Dwalin's kin lest they think her unworthy of him.

How much time had passed since her father and Dwalin had gone out the door was lost to her, and it was all she could do to remain in her seat when they heard the door open again at last. She frowned on hearing only one set of footsteps—Dwalin's heavy tread—and when he appeared she rose slowly.

His eyes held hers as he walked to her and took her hands in his. " _Kardûna_ , do not weep," he said. "Your father and I have come to an understanding. He has given us his blessing."

"But why did he not come and tell me so himself?" she asked.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Because he desired to go home and… How did he put it? 'Burn the seats of my sons' britches', I think he said."

The other dwarves and Bilbo laughed, and even Larkspur felt a chuckle escape her. "I'd like to see him turn them over his knee," she said. "He'll not actually do it, of course, but they'll probably wish he had if he's really that angry."

The next thing she knew, she was in Dwalin's arms and he was cradling her head beneath his chin. Larkspur sighed and closed her eyes in contentment, barely aware of the departure of the others.

"Probably not a good idea they left us alone," Dwalin murmured a moment later.

"And why is that?"

He cleared his throat. "I had to make a concession to your father, in order to receive his approval."

Larkspur stood back. "What concession?" she demanded.

"Though he acknowledged you are of age and he's no longer in a position to dictate your choices, your father requested that we be…chaperoned."


	26. Chapter 26

**Once again I thank my Rockstar Reviewers—for chapter 25, they are readergirl4985, readpink, and Robinbird79! Also, big thanks go to Cheeky Tiff for clicking the follow button!**

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 **26\. How to Save a Life**

"And I would have stayed up with you all night…" ~ The Fray, _How to Save a Life_

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It was clear by his tone what he thought of the idea, and Larkspur found herself no more thrilled by it than he.

"Well that's ridiculous, I'm grown!" she declared.

Dwalin chuckled. "'Tis not you he doesn't trust, _Kardûna_ ," he said. "And though I am loath to admit it, that we must keep to public venues or be within eyesight of at least one other person at all times—his words—is probably a good idea. It will remind me to be on my best behavior."

"Oh please. As if you've not been perfectly decent every time we've been alone," Larkspur muttered.

He drew her back against him, and she could feel that even now, he was ready for more than a kiss. "Do you remember what I said about the firestorm?" he asked. "It has been all I can do each time I have kissed you to keep myself under control. Just being near you drives me mad with desire."

Again she felt the trills of…desire, was it? _Something_ certainly caused her to tremble in his arms, and Larkspur only knew that she liked the feelings elicited by his words very, very much.

"The length of our courtship is up to you," Dwalin continued. "I am certain you will let me know when you are ready to become my wife. Until then, your _adad_ is merely doing what he can to protect your virtue, Larkspur. He knows our courtship will lead your kin to talking about us and that not all of it will be favorable. He feels a chaperone and meetings in public will curb their enthusiasm for gossip."

He then tilted her chin so that their eyes met. "Do not be upset with him, _Kardûna_. He is but a father concerned for the welfare of his only daughter."

After a moment of consideration, Larkspur nodded. "I know he is. My father does love me, even if he is high-handed about it."

She then glanced down at the tables, still laden with food. "Call the others back in here—I'll be darned if all that time I spent in the kitchen is going to go to waste."

Dwalin followed her gaze. "Aye, it would be a shame if the food went to waste, wouldn't it?"

 **-...-**

The first weeks of the new year went by slowly. Dwalin spent as much time with Larkspur as he could, though after a heavy snow there were a few days when the whole of the village stayed closed up in their homes and he was unable to see her at all. His housemates were overjoyed when the melting began, for he had been a bear to live with.

Or so they said.

Though it was more difficult than he'd anticipated, Dwalin tolerated the presence of a chaperone whenever he and Larkspur went for a walk—usually it was Fíli or Kíli, though sometimes it was Bilbo. It was the only time they were "alone" together, those walks, for once Bilbo had been made aware of Isembold's condition he made sure they stuck to it. Dwalin didn't know who was worse, Larkspur's father or her cousin.

Otherwise, they were always in the presence of a number of other people, either at Bilbo's, the Green Dragon, or even her family's home, at which he made a point of visiting her twice a week. He knew that her brothers—especially Merroc—did not trust him and wished their sister had chosen someone else, but much to his delight and surprise, Isembold Took seemed to warm to him a little more each time they spoke.

As they had anticipated, people began to talk as soon as they heard Larkspur had accepted his suit. For the dwarf it was easy to ignore the slights against his character, though he did wish the hobbits would take the time to actually get to know him rather than make things up about him based on speculation. It was when they maligned Larkspur's character or intelligence that his hackles would raise. The worst of the slander came from Bilbo's cousin-by-marriage, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who never wasted an opportunity to disparage one or the other of them, or to blame Bilbo for "the destruction of an innocent girl's reputation".

At times like that, when the hurtful speech had him one step away from lashing out at the speaker, he would think of her. He would think of how deeply he had fallen in love with Larkspur in so short a time, and he would calm—and whenever he laid eyes upon her, he would forget all about the fools who clearly just did not understand. There would never come a day when he would not feel joy at seeing her face, especially when her smile was directed at him. She was his everything, more precious to him than the vast sum of his wealth.

He could not wait to marry her.

 **-...-**

"Can we go skating today?"

Larkspur shared a look with the other teachers at Arvill Chubbs' question. It was mid-March, and the children were restless with having to stay inside for their play time after lunch for so many weeks.

"I don't see why not," said Lilybell Boffins, the headmistress. "Larkspur, Posie—are you up for it?"

Larkspur grinned. "I think fresh air would do us all wonders," she replied, much to the enjoyment of the children.

And so it was that several pairs of ice skates—hard pieces of leather with a flat-edged blade attached to the bottom and strings to tie them over the foot—were pulled from the closet as the children donned their cloaks. Once the teachers were all dressed warmly as well, they all headed outside and down the road to the pond.

At the shoreline, the children quickly sat and tied their skates on; Larkspur, Lilybell, and Posie helped the littlest hobbits with the tying. And then with gales of laughter the children were all off, the three teachers of Hobbiton's small school delighted to see them enjoying themselves.

"Planning to venture out, ladies?" asked Posie Proudfoot.

Lilybell shook her head. "Not this old bag of bones," she said with a chuckle. "I can't keep my balance on skates anymore. You two go on and have fun with the little ones."

Posie turned a questioning glance at Larkspur. With a laugh, she nodded. "Why not? Hand me a pair of skates, we're missing all the fun."

The two younger ladies quickly donned their own skates and headed out to where the children were, nearly to the middle of the pond. They all slid around, twirling and laughing, making long chains by joining hands, having an all-around merry time. Larkspur and Posie would often help those not too balanced up off of their bums whenever they fell.

The early afternoon fun came to an instant halt when a muffled cracking sound reached the ears of the hobbits on the ice. Several of the younger children squealed when a second crack sounded, and the two teachers did their best to calm them.

With a look to Posie, whom she knew was not the best of swimmers, Larkspur spoke, keeping her voice as even as she could. "We should be going. Time to get back to the lessons."

"You're right, I'm afraid," Posie replied evenly, though she could see the other lass was nervous. "All right, children. Time to go."

"Miss Posie is going to take the lead," Larkspur said. "We're going to go slowly across the ice, okay? Jasper, why don't you take Miss Posie's hand, eh? We'll form a chain like we did a moment ago and go in a straight line."

Jasper, one of the oldest boys in the school, nodded firmly and took hold of Posie's hand. He then held his other out to another boy as Posie began to move toward the shore. The line continued like that, a child taking the hand of the one before him or her and holding their hand out for the next one, moving slowly and steadily toward the shoreline where an anxious Lilybell waited for them.

And then a third crack—the loudest so far—reverberated across the pond. The children screamed, and it was all Larkspur and Posie could do to keep them from bolting.

A pair of small arms suddenly wrapped tightly around Larkspur's legs, causing her to stop short. She looked down and saw that Ruby Bracegirdle, the last child in the line, had let go of the girl in front of her and was now clinging to her with a pale, frightened expression.

"Miss Larkspur, I'm scared!" she cried.

Larkspur stroked her hair. "I know, sweetie, but everything will be all right," she said, glancing up and noticing that Lilybell had called for help—more adult hobbits were now gathered at the shoreline waiting for the children, many of them parents of her students. The line had moved further away than she'd realized, as she and the little one were practically alone on the ice now. She saw Ruby's mother and father at the edge of the pond, Mr. Bracegirdle standing with his arms wrapped around his frightened-looking wife, who appeared to be crying.

"Come on now, sweetie," Larkspur said, hoping that the tremor of fear trickling up and down her spine was not evident in her voice. "Your mama and papa are waiting for you."

Ruby nodded slowly, the large tears falling from her eyes breaking Larkspur's heart. She took the little girl's hand in hers, her grip firm, and began to slide slowly forward. Another cracking sound elicited a screech from Ruby and she threw herself against Larkspur's legs again.

"I can't do it!" she cried.

"Sure you can!" Larkspur replied brightly. "You're a brave little girl, Ruby, I know you are! And I need you to help me get across the ice—can you do that?"

The little hobbit looked up at her. "Will you carry me? Please, please!"

That was not a good idea—Posie and the majority of the children were already on the shore and the ice was still cracking. With Ruby on her feet their weight was more evenly distributed, but if she picked her up, Larkspur knew there was a greater chance of them falling through the ice.

"Please, Miss Larkspur! I'm scared! I can't do it!" Ruby pleaded.

Apparently she didn't have much choice in the matter. Suppressing a shudder of fear, Larkspur said a prayer to Yavanna for their safety before she bent and slowly pulled the little hobbit up her side and settled her on her hip. Ruby slung her arms around her neck in a vice-like grip as she cautiously inched her way forward.

She had made it only about three feet when the ice decided it had had enough and gave way beneath her, plunging both of them into the frigid water below.

 **-...-**

Dwalin had just finished cutting a rack of beef ribs when Kíli burst into the butcher shop calling his name.

"Dwalin! Come quickly!"

The tone of his voice had him dropping his tools and rushing out to the front of the shop, where Mr. and Mrs. Bolger both were asking what had happened.

"The teachers took the schoolchildren to the pond for some ice skating," Kíli said quickly. "But the ice started to crack—Larkspur and a child fell into the pond!"

He did not wait to hear more. Fear and adrenaline raced through his veins as Dwalin thundered out of the shop with Kíli on his heels. It was but a few minutes before he reached the large fishing pond that could be seen from Bag End. A crowd that now included Thorin, Fíli, and Bilbo had gathered at the edge.

"Out of my way!" he growled, pushing his way through the crowd to reach the edge of the pond. Looking out across the ice, he saw Larkspur clinging to the edge of the hole she'd fallen into, a tiny head beside hers.

"Dwalin!" Larkspur cried.

"Larkspur, I'm coming for you!" he shouted back, and stepped a foot out onto the ice.

A hand gripped his arm tightly. Dwalin growled as he turned his head to look at Thorin. "You are much heavier than the two of them combined, you cannot go out there."

He threw his arm off. "I will not stand by and do nothing!" he said.

"Dwalin, you cannot swim," Thorin pointed out. "If you fall through the ice, how will we save you as well as her?"

He clapped a hand on his shoulder. Dwalin knew it was meant to reassure him, perhaps to calm him or keep him in place. "Wait just another few minutes. The hobbits are gathering rope to pull them out."

"I will be the one to take it to them," he said forcefully, and by the look in his friend's eyes, Thorin knew better than to argue with him further.

It was an agonizing wait. Every breath he took was filled with pain; he hated having to stand at the shore while his beloved hung in the freezing water about 100 feet from where he stood. Every now and again the people could hear the crying of the little girl with her, as well as intermittent wailing for her mommy. It was not hard to figure out which of the hobbit lasses her mother was, for each time they heard the frightened cry, a red-haired female to his left who clung tightly to a male hobbit would whimper.

At long last several other males—among them Larkspur's brothers—arrived with armloads of thick rope. The hobbits made quick work of tying the different pieces together, at the end of which a loop was made. Isembold carried the coil to Dwalin and placed the majority of it in his arms, while he held onto the end.

"Go," he said. "Save them."

Dwalin nodded resolutely, then turned back toward the icy pond. Larkspur and the girl had been in the water near half an hour, the former desperately clinging to the edge of the hole to keep her head and that of the little girl above the surface. He'd taken only a few steps when the ice was heard to crackle, and so he stopped and slowly lowered himself to lay flat on his stomach. Crawling this way would take longer, but he had to take care not to make the situation worse.

He could hear Larkspur talking to her young charge as he inched closer. "He's c-coming," she said. "D-Dwalin is c-coming to h-help us."

Over and over she repeated the words through chattering teeth and blue lips. The closer he got, he could see that she was growing weaker, the biting cold of the water sapping her strength with each passing minute. He had to get her out of there and into dry clothing, next to a roaring fire with his arms wrapped around her.

A flash of relief surged through him when he reached them at long last; behind him a cheer rose from the crowd. Dwalin wanted so much to just grab them out of the water, but amidst the cheering he could hear the ice cracking. All around him were spider web cracks, and because of his weight they were spreading fast.

He didn't have much time.

"All right now, let's get this rope around you," he said.

"T-take R-Ruby f-f-first," Larkspur managed.

"I'm taking you both!" Dwalin exclaimed in return.

Her eyebrows dropped over her eyes in what he'd come to know as her "Don't argue with me" expression. "N-no. Let th-them t-take her f-first."

She turned her head slightly. "All r-right now, R-Ruby. Y-you l-let M-Mister D-Dwal-lin p-put the r-rope a-around you."

"Stubborn arse," he muttered as he slid himself around to the side to make the job easier.

"Y-you l-love my s-stub-born arse," Larkspur replied.

His only response was to grunt as he scooted over the edge of the ice as carefully as he could, the edge of the hole breaking off a chunk or two under his chest as he reached forward and slipped the rope around the little girl's head. Dwalin bit back a hiss at the feel of the ice-cold water that soaked through his shirt.

"All right now, lassie," he said in his softest, gentlest voice. "I need you to slip your arms through the loop for me. Can you do that?"

Ruby's teeth were chattering too much for her to reply verbally, the poor thing, so she only nodded. First with her right arm and then her left—the opposite arm immediately grabbing hold of Larkspur's shoulder once it was through—she managed to get the loop into position.

"Now we need you to get yourself around Miss Larkspur and onto the ice," Dwalin urged her. "You won't have to crawl or anything—your papa and everybody will pull you to shore."

"L-lay f-flat," added Larkspur. "S-spread y-your a-arms a-and l-legs out l-like w-when you m-make a-angels in the s-snow."

Ruby nodded, and then slowly made her way over Larkspur's shoulder. Once she was flat on the ice, her arms and legs spread like she'd been told, Dwalin raised his arm to signal the hobbits on the shore. Larkspur gave a soft cry of relief when they began to pull the little girl away.

"How will we get you out of here now?" Dwalin asked, the desperate need to touch her leading him to reach out and lay his hand on her back.

"H-hobbits a-are v-very g-good at th-throwing," Larkspur answered. "I a-am sure s-someone w-will th-throw the r-rope back. Y-you m-might have t-to c-crawl b-back a f-few f-feet for it, b-but th-they'll g-get it c-close."

"I could just haul your stubborn arse out of there," he told her.

"Th-the ice i-is b-breaking. Y-you'll f-fall in."

"I don't care! _Kardûna_ , let me get you out of there before you freeze to death!"

Dwalin knew his voice was desperate, but he did not care. Even being so close to her now, with her rescue imminent, he was still so very afraid he might lose her.

 _Mahal, I beg you. Do not take her away from me when I have just found her_ , he pleaded silently.

"All r-right," Larkspur conceded at last. "J-just be c-caref-ful."

He slid himself about a foot to his left, remaining perpendicular to her but still within reach of her. Dwalin then grabbed Larkspur under the arm and she grabbed his arm with her hand, then he tried sliding to the left again as he pulled her forward. It was not easy to do and he only managed a few inches.

With a growl of frustration he paused. "Can you grab hold of me and pull yourself out?" he suggested.

"I c-can try," Larkspur replied.

He swung his left arm forward and with her right hand she grabbed hold of it. Fear spiked through him again at the weakness of her grip, the chill of her skin against his. She grunted as she tried to haul herself out of the water and was not remiss to the increased crackling of the ice due to their combined weight.

When she had managed to get the majority of her torso onto the ice, Dwalin scooted forward, and placing his hand on her bottom he gave as much of a push as he dared. Larkspur crawled forward until she was fully on the ice next to him.

Relief flooded through him, but he knew they were not out of danger. "Larkspur, my love, I know you are cold and weak, but you have to keep going," he told her. "We cannot both of us stay here, or the ice will soon give."

At the same moment they heard a strangled cry of relief combined with the wail of a child—Ruby and her parents were at last reunited.

"Oh g-good. R-Ruby is s-safe," Larkspur muttered.

"The rope is coming back now!" they heard Thorin yell from the shore.

Dwalin turned his head in time to see it land about fifteen feet away—hobbits were indeed very good at throwing, he mused. "Go on now, _Kardûna_. I'll be right behind you."

Larkspur reached her hand back and he grasped it in his. "I l-love you, D-Dwalin," she said. "W-when th-this is o-over, we'll t-talk a-about g-getting m-married."

A sense of satisfaction burst through his chest. "I love you, too—and I'll hold you to that," he told her, then gave her hand a squeeze. "Now go."

It was almost physically painful to let her go, but he knew he had to—they were so close to getting her to safety. He watched as she made painstakingly slow progress toward the loop of rope and thought she must be so tired from having been in the freezing cold water so long. He could not wait until they were both on the shore so he could gather her in his arms to help her get warm again.

Dwalin sighed with relief when Larkspur reached the rope and slipped her arms through it. She herself called out "Pull!" to those on the shore holding the other end: her father and Thorin. Another surge of relief ran through him as they began to slowly tug her toward them.

He waited until she was halfway there before turning himself in the direction of the crowd. He crawled on his belly away from the hole, but his progress was as frustratingly slow as it had been before. When he saw that Larkspur was safely in the arms of her father, a blanket around her shoulders, he decided to take the risk of getting on his knees. The ice cracked but did not give, and he muttered "To Mordor with this nonsense" before he slowly rose to his feet.

Dwalin realized instantly his mistake, as a loud crack sounded and the ice beneath him split. Larkspur cried out his name and he had only time to draw a breath before it gave and he fell into the water.


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you once again to the rockstars who reviewed chapter 27: Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, SethadoreVGC, readergirl4985, dojoson41, and readpink!**

 **dojoson41: LoL, Kíli didn't do that because quite frankly, I didn't think of it. Now I wish I had, that would have been a great idea!**

 **Thanks also to phantombuggo for clicking the favorite/follow button!**

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 **27\. A Decent Proposal**

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Dwalin rose to consciousness feeling very warm.

There was a roaring fire to his right—the bed had, for some reason, been moved next to the fireplace. Though he was confused as to why, and knew it was probably about time to get up for the day, for once he felt like sleeping in. He could solve the mystery of why his bed was across the room from where it should be later.

He started to shift his position—his right arm was a little numb—but froze immediately as his brain registered he was not alone.

Opening his eyes at last, he looked down to find Larkspur's head on his shoulder. She was sound asleep. It then registered that her arm was slung across his chest and her legs were twined with his. Oh Mahal, were they…?

Relief flooded through him when he discovered with a careful lifting of the blanket they lay under that they were both fully clothed—that he was pleased by the discovery was an irony not lost on him. He wanted to lay with her, certainly—was desperate to sate the firestorm and his own desires—but he wanted to remember doing it!

The door started to open then and he looked toward it. Fíli poked his head in, then stepped fully into the room when he caught Dwalin's gaze.

"Oh, thank Mahal," he said softly. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Good," Dwalin replied. "What happened?"

Fíli frowned. "You don't remember?"

He tried to think, but his mind seemed trapped in a fog. "At the moment, no."

The younger dwarrow came closer. "Well, first Larkspur and a little lass fell through the ice into the fishing pond."

Dwalin closed his eyes as a memory pushed its way to the fore of his thoughts. Along with it came a spike of fear, and in reflex he wrapped his arms around the female who lay sleeping next to him. Larkspur moaned softly and snuggled closer, but did not wake.

"That I remember now," Dwalin said bitterly. "Never in all my life, Fíli, have I been so frightened as I was when I saw her in that water."

He glanced over at his visitor again. "How is the little girl?"

Fíli smiled. "Bilbo actually just returned from checking in with her family. He said she was wrapped up in a blanket on her _amad_ 's lap with a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands. They think she's going to be just fine. And the Bracegirdles did ask after you and Larkspur—they're enormously thankful for what you did for them."

The blond dwarf tilted his head. "Do you remember anything else?"

Dwalin snorted. "I remember being too impatient for my own good," he replied. "It was foolish of me to stand on the ice when I knew it was not stable."

A frown drew his brows together then. "How did I get out of the water? I can't bloody swim."

Fíli gestured toward the female he held. "You've Lark to thank for that. The moment you fell in, she grabbed the rope from Thorin and ran back out on the ice. Didn't even hesitate. She got the loop around you after she stopped you drowning and Uncle and I hauled your heavy arse to shore. You'd swallowed a good amount of water, but we got you to cough it up. You've been unconscious for hours—it's nearly supper time."

"Does her father know she's here—like this?"

"Her _adad_ is out in the parlor," Fíli answered his question with a chuckle. "When you didn't wake right away, Larkspur got scared. She insisted on laying beside you to get you warm again even though she'd been in the water longer than you. Master Took was against the idea until Thorin explained that you'd recover faster than she and that your body heat was more like to help her warm up than the other way around. Once you were both in dry clothing and your bed moved closer to the fire for added heat, she climbed under the blanket with you and fell right to sleep."

"Then be gone so she'll stay that way. I desire she rests as long as possible to regain her strength," Dwalin told him.

The younger son of Durin grinned and turned to leave.

"And Fíli?"

He turned back at the door. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. And Thorin."

Fíli nodded solemnly and stepped out, carefully shutting the door behind him. Dwalin sighed and closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep again on a thought he'd had nearly every night of the last fourteen weeks—that he longed for the time when waking up next to Larkspur was an everyday occurrence.

 **-...-**

A pressing need to relieve her bladder woke Larkspur from a sound sleep. She quickly recalled the event that could have taken her life and glanced up at the one who had saved her. Dwalin was asleep, his handsome features relaxed, his steady breathing punctuated by soft snores.

Oh, to think how close she had come to losing him! The terror that had seized her when he fell through the ice was no less powerful on recall than it had been in the moment. Larkspur tightened her hold on him, knowing that all her doubts and securities were no more. She loved this gruff, stubborn dwarf, and she could not wait to marry him.

The cramping in her abdomen reminded her of why she'd woken, and so with reluctance she extricated herself from Dwalin's embrace, careful not to disturb him. She shut the door softly behind her and trudged quietly though the back of the house toward the bathroom, knowing without a doubt that her father was likely still there. She made it to the bathroom unimpeded, but her plan to return directly to her love's side was thwarted by the appearance of Kíli, who was just stepping out from the room he shared with his brother at the opposite end of the hall.

"Larkspur, you're awake!" he greeted her with no small amount of enthusiasm.

That surprise accompanied his joy prompted her to ask, "How long was I asleep?"

"All evening and night, if you can believe it," he replied as he came toward her. "We were just about to sit down to breakfast."

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe I slept so long."

"Given how long you were in that freezing cold water, you must have needed the rest."

At this he visibly shuddered, before plastering on a smile and stepping to her side. He turned and held his arm out to her. "Allow me to escort you, my lady."

 _It's proper to take a gentleman's arm if it's offered_. Larkspur smiled as she recalled her mother's words and slipped her hand into the crook of the dwarf's elbow. Her smile was also for Kíli, whom she knew had been heartbroken by the loss of his mother and having learned that the elf he'd cared for had given her heart to another in his absence. Though he was always quite jovial, she had witnessed moments where his thoughts had turned inward and he desired no one's company but his own.

Dwalin had recently confided that he, Thorin, and Fíli were worried about him. They feared he had given up on achieving any happiness of his own in this new life.

She sympathized with their fears, for she'd come to care for Kíli as though he were another member of her own family—which he would be as soon as she and Dwalin married. For now, however, she would rejoice in his smile and save her worry for Dwalin.

Her stomach chose that moment to loudly protest its prolonged emptiness. Kíli grinned wider and she laughed through her embarrassment. "As much as I desire to return to Dwalin," she began, "I probably should eat something."

As they walked the short distance to the dining room, he told her that Dwalin had woken briefly the night before and spoken to Fíli, and that his only concern had been for her. Recalling where she had woken, Larkspur felt the heat of embarrassment fill her cheeks. Kíli must have noticed, for he paused in his stride and said, "Do not be concerned for your virtue. Dwalin would never disrespect you, and save perhaps for your father and Bilbo, we thought your adamant refusal to leave his side most honorable—especially given your condition was worse than his."

"But what about everyone else?"

Kíli scoffed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Sod everyone else. Nobody knows anyway—not even your brothers. We've told all callers that you are both recovering and will visit with well-wishers when you are able."

Relief washed through her and she felt her tension ease. Enough gossip had been bandied about where she and Dwalin were concerned.

The four males in the dining room stood on their entrance and welcomed her warmly—except her father, who rushed over and took her into a tight embrace almost before she'd let go Kíli's arm.

"Thank Yavanna you are well, my dear," he said, and Larkspur felt tears sting her eyes at the emotion she heard in his voice. "I would not like to have given you up to her embrace so soon."

"I am so sorry to have worried you, Papa," she told him.

He stepped back, though his hands still held her arms. "Nonsense! You saved a child's life!"

"Ruby Bracegirdle has said you are her hero," spoke up Bilbo.

Larkspur felt another blush warm her face and hurried to a seat. Despite her protests, her father, Bilbo, and even her dwarf friends encouraged her to eat heartily. Though she was certainly hungry after so long between meals (how un-hobbit-like!), she found her desire to eat somewhat lacking. If Dwalin had been well enough to speak to Fíli the night before, then why was he still abed?

Suddenly, as though summoned by her thoughts, Dwalin came rushing into the dining room. He stopped short on seeing her, and she now could hardly see him for the tears of relief that filled her eyes.

Larkspur jumped to her feet and hurried around the table. Dwalin met her halfway and they threw their arms around each other; she cried unabashedly into his shoulder as he muttered what sounded like a prayer in Khuzdul.

"Thank Mahal!" he said next, at the same time she finally managed to say "Thank Yavanna!" around the lump in her throat.

"Now that the two of you have assured yourselves of the other's well-being, might we get on with breakfast?" queried Thorin in an exasperated tone, though when Larkspur turned to look at him, there was a smile in his eyes.

She grinned, and realized that she was suddenly famished.

 **-...-**

That evening, Dwalin sat somewhat alone with Larkspur at the prep table in the kitchen—somewhat being due to Bilbo retaining his chaperone status and keeping them within his line of sight. Larkspur's cousin sat by the fireplace in the parlor, though in Thorin's usual seat instead of his own.

" _Kardûna_ ," Dwalin began, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "Did you mean it when you said we would speak of marriage?"

Larkspur smiled. "I know you've not formally asked, and I also know 'tis what you've desired from the first moment of our courtship. You gave me the gift of time, which I appreciate so much." She paused to draw a breath. "But I don't want to waste anymore. I love you, and falling in that lake made me realize I don't want to live the rest of my life without you as my husband. Before you came to save me, I made a vow to the Queen of Things That Grow that should she let me live, I would tell you I want to marry you."

For a moment he was speechless, and so Dwalin simply leaned forward and kissed her, then touched his brow to hers. When at last he found his voice, he said, "I cannot properly express how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

A thought then occurred to him: A part of dwarf custom was that once she had accepted his proposal, he was supposed to build a home for her as proof he could provide for her and what children they might have. They could not marry until the home was built (or if living in a mountain, a room readied in his quarters for her personal use).

But Dwalin had no idea where they were going to live.

"Larkspur, what will we do?" he asked. "Am I to stay here with you in the Shire, or will you journey with my kin and me to the White Mountains? The choice is yours as always it has been, but I need to know before we become formally engaged, so I will know how I am to follow the customs of my people."

She tightened her hold on his hands a fraction, and held his gaze with a gentle smile as she said, "My love, we've not known each other long, but I know your heart as sure as I know my own. It would grieve you deeply to stay here, leaving Thorin and his boys to move on alone. As beautiful as the Shire is, it is not where your heart lies."

"My heart lies with you, and so home is wherever you are."

"And I adore you for saying so, but I know you could never be truly happy here, even with me and a dozen children," Larkspur replied. "You would be the only dwarf in the whole of the Shire, and that solitude would weigh upon you as surely as your worry for your brother—and yes, I know he's a cousin once or twice removed, but you'd probably not come all this way with him if you did not love him as a brother."

Dwalin sighed. She was right—cousin or no, king or no, there was no amount of loyalty that would have brought him this far for loyalty's sake. It was because he loved Thorin as much as he loved Balin, and it was the guilt he felt for failing him on that hillside that had led him to leave his new homeland and the only brother he had by blood for the relative unknown.

Some bonds ran too deep. He would stay here if she asked him to, and he would be happy for a time. But eventually his worry over Thorin—and Fíli and Kíli—would lead to misery. Isolation from his own kind would eventually lead to resentment of her choice, no matter how much he loved her. No matter how much the bond he shared with his One drove him to make her happy above all else. He'd known this from the start but had refused to acknowledge it for her sake.

He nearly laughed to think it was _she_ who had called him to carpet for it.

"You know me so well, _Kardûna_ ," he replied at last. "But what of your happiness? Will you not also be miserable so far away from your kin, surrounded by none who are just like you? You'd be the only hobbit in the whole of Dwarrowvale—the whole of the south, even. Can you truly be happy living so far away from your family?"

Larkspur lifted a hand and touched the jeweled clasp of the courting braid in his beard. "You are my family now," she said simply. "I will miss my father. I'll even miss my pain-in-the-arse brothers. And I will miss Bilbo something fierce—no matter the years between us, he's the best friend I have. But we told him three moons ago that we'd come back to visit regular, and I know we will. You are a dwarf of your word, and I a hobbit of mine."

Dwalin smiled so wide he thought his face might truly split. He did not have to choose between his past and his future—the choice had been made for him.

He kissed her then, thoroughly, breaking apart with a chuckle when Bilbo cleared his throat loudly in the next room. "Mahal chose well for me," he said as he gazed once more into Larkspur's sparkling eyes.

"And Yavanna chose well for me," she replied.

He huffed a breath then, and continued with, "Well, with that settled, I suppose the next thing I need do is this…"

Standing straight, he moved off the bench on which he sat before dropping to one knee and taking her hand in his. "Larkspur Took, chosen by Mahal and blessed by Yavanna… Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

A brilliant smile lit her features even as tears slipped from her eyes. "I absolutely will," she said, before she kissed him so deeply that not even Bilbo clearing his throat again could bring it to an end.


	28. Chapter 28

**My dear readers, you have my deepest and humblest apologies for taking nearly two months to post an update—the longest interval yet since I began this story. I used to joke that my Muse had been a hostage of Middle-earth since December of 2014, right after the last chapter of _The Hobbit_ was released in theaters, but these last eight weeks it would appear that she escaped her not wholly unwilling captivity to play around in the future (did some planning and even a little writing in my _Star Trek_ world). **

**The chapter you're about to read had been started almost immediately after the last, but at one point I began to think I was dragging things on too long. So I started over from a different perspective, and after a while that felt like it wasn't working either. I think that's when my Muse decided to take her break. But thankfully (at last!) she's come back to help me finish the chapter and get this story moving again. If you have kept the faith that I would come back with more story to tell, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It was never my intention to disappear like that, but sometimes we writers do have to take a step back. I am hoping, however, that my flighty Muse doesn't pull another stunt like that, because I don't want to lose my awesome followers!**

 **Robinbird79, readpink, Celebrisilweth, SethadoreVGC, readergirl4985, dojoson41, and ThatOtherWriterGirl: you all are so wonderful for leaving a review! I so love to hear from folk who are as excited for what's going to happen next as I am.**

* * *

 **28. _Yasthûn ra Yasthûna_**

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Hobbiton was a flurry of activity.

The excitement over the coming wedding had spread quickly even while some questioned why the couple was in such a hurry to marry. Of course, hobbits being a talkative sort of people, it soon got around that the dwarves were keen to be on their way south once spring was truly underway, and Larkspur's father would not allow her to travel alone with four males unless she was properly wed to one of them—being merely engaged simply would not do. That the dwarf to which she was soon to be wed was in complete agreement with Isembold served to raise their opinion of the fellow considerably.

Telling her father they were going to marry went over better than either Larkspur or Dwalin had imagined. He told them that he had rather expected the news was coming, not only that they were going to marry but that his daughter would choose to leave him.

"Always has she craved her own adventure. Yavanna has truly granted her wish, it would seem," he told them tearfully.

Larkspur had embraced him then and assured him that she would come back to visit as often as she could, and swore to write him letters every week.

Besides preparing decorations and planning the menu, the hobbits were excited by the news that some Dwarven wedding customs would be integrated into the ceremony. On this subject they could only speculate, as the dwarves were not forthcoming with answers to their questions. The only thing they would say was that Thorin would be standing beside the mayor of Hobbiton, conducting a part of the ceremony in the dwarves' language.

Because Dwalin would not be staying in the Shire and thus not building a home for his new bride there, Isembold had offered the use of the Took house for their shut-in week. Traditionally, a dwarf couple would spend the first week of married life cut off from the outside world, holed up in their new home getting used to living with each other and learning how to take care of one another. Without a new home of their own, the choices were limited to the Green Dragon and his room at Bilbo's, though when the tradition was mentioned to Isembold, Larkspur's father declared they could have use of her childhood home, that he and the younger three would join his older sons in Michel Delving for the week.

And in order to fulfill the tradition of building his bride a home, Dwalin vowed to Larkspur before her entire family—the older four having arrived with their wives and children the week before the wedding—that it was the very first thing he would do for her once they reached Dwarrowvale. The older four, he'd been pleased to see, were rather more accepting of him as their sister's choice of husband than the younger three. Dwalin was also impressed that the oldest, Caradoc, had made much the same declaration—in private, of course—that Bilbo had: if he broke Larkspur's heart, there would be consequences.

Near half the Shire had been invited to the wedding, and the other half were like to turn up anyway. When April 1st dawned at last, Larkspur was somewhat surprised to find she was not nervous—merely excited to get on with it. Nerves, she knew, would come later in the evening, when she and Dwalin lay together for the first time. She'd spoken with many a married hobbit lass, including her sisters-by-law, about what to expect in the marriage bed. More than one had offered suggestions on how to please her new husband, though they admitted to wondering whether what pleased a hobbit male would be pleasurable to a dwarf…and demanded she tell them if their suggestions worked. Larkspur had blushed furiously and made no promises that she would tell them a single thing.

Patience, her brother Caradoc's wife, smiled at her in the mirror over her dressing table as she patted her shoulder, snapping Larkspur out of her musings.

"There now, sister. Your hair looks quite lovely, don't you think?" she said.

Larkspur studied the curls that were piled neatly on top of her head. "You've done a marvelous job. Will the flowers fit 'round all that?" she asked with a laugh.

Iris, wife to her brother Pardo, came over with the wreath of buttercups and set it atop her head, careful of the curls as she used pins to hold it in place. "Now you look splendid—though what to do with the braids?"

On the night of their engagement, Dwalin had woven a second braid in her hair, this one over her left ear, at the end of which he had fastened a bead carved with his family's sigil. Were they among dwarves, he told her, it would let all who saw it know that she was soon to join the House of Durin. When they married, a new bead would be added to each braid under those she already wore.

"They'll stay where they are," Larkspur said, reaching as she often did to caress the beads on them as the braids hung over her shoulders. "Dwalin must have access to them so that he may put the marriage beads into my hair."

It seemed quite sudden that it was time to begin the ceremony. Larkspur hadn't really felt anything but excitement until her father knocked on her bedroom door. At the sound she was hit with an almost overwhelming flutter of nerves in her belly, as it occurred to her she would be leaving this house a maiden, and returning to it a wife. When next she laid down on the bed that had been hers since childhood, she would not be alone.

Taking a deep breath, she stood as Caradoc's wife opened the door. When she turned to her father, his eyes misted over and a smile appeared.

"Yavanna be praised," he said as he stepped toward her and took her hands in his. "You look so much more like your mother today than ever you have before."

Tears stung her eyes at the compliment. Though she'd considered making her own wedding dress as many a hobbit lass had done before her, the notion had been brief, as she had remembered that her father had kept her mother's wedding gown safely tucked away for just this occasion. It was a beautiful ankle-length gown of pale yellow silk with fitted sleeves to the elbow and bells of sheer white silk from elbow to wrist. The neckline, waist, hem and elbows were trimmed with white silk ribbons sewed with yellow thread. The heirloom dress had been made for her mother's mother, and had allegedly been inspired by the gowns worn by Elven females.

"I so wish she was here, Papa," Larkspur said, smiling through her tears.

He gave her hands a soft squeeze. "My dear, I have no doubt she is smiling down on you. The morning dawned bright and clear, it is a warm spring day, and you will no doubt have the wedding you have always wished for."

Emotion swelled within her and Larkspur threw her arms around him. Her father chuckled softly as he returned the embrace.

"Come now, sister!" said Patience brightly. "It's time to get you married!"

Laughing as she released her father, the bride was hurriedly looked over to make sure everything was just right before her attendants led the way through the house. Larkspur walked with her hand on her father's arm, thankful the party field wasn't too far a walk from the house, as she found herself once more excited to see Dwalin in his wedding clothes.

The musicians began to play as soon as her youngest sister-in-law emerged from the house. Three more brothers' wives followed, and then the tune changed as Larkspur and her father stepped out. Everyone stood and turned toward them, blocking her view of Dwalin who stood with the mayor, Thorin, and his nephews beneath the party tree.

Well, blocking her view of everything but their heads.

In what seemed a lifetime but was only a few minutes, the small procession was at last making its way down the aisle. Soft gasps were heard from the ladies in attendance, followed by remarks on how lovely Larkspur's dress was and what a beautiful bride she made. The bride herself paid none of the gawkers any heed, as her attention was solely for her soon-to-be husband.

Dwalin wore a tunic of royal blue trimmed with light brown fur, likely from a wolf, as he'd once told her males of his family had an affinity with the animal. The buttons along the front were clearly made from gold, with a silver ring around each and a jewel in the center—rubies, as were the stones in their courting beads. His breeches were of a brown cloth a shade or so darker than the fur, and he wore a brand-new pair of black boots. His hair had been tamed into a tail and he wore the biggest smile she'd ever seen on him.

Larkspur felt her nerves vanish as their gazes met.

When at last she and her father reached the end of the aisle, the mayor stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"My fellow citizens of the Shire, we are come together on this glorious spring day to witness the joining of Larkspur Took and Dwalin, son of Fundin—" He flicked his eyes briefly to Dwalin, who nodded slightly. "—in the bonds of matrimony. Be there anyone who can give just reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or henceforth remain silent."

Beside her Dwalin tensed. In truth, Larkspur was just as afraid as he that one of the younger three would make some remark. They'd behaved civilly toward him since the Yuletide dinner fiasco, and almost warmly since he'd pulled her from the lake two weeks ago, but she could not be certain they'd not take one last opportunity to try and change her mind.

Thankfully, the requisite minute passed. She and Dwalin both sighed softly in unison, and he looked down at her with a small smile.

"Whoso gives this lass to be wed?" Hobbiton's mayor continued.

Her father cleared his throat. "Her father, her brothers, and her mother in spirit."

Larkspur gave her father's arm an affectionate squeeze as Thorin then stepped forward. "Has an appropriate bride price for the giving of your only daughter in marriage been offered?"

Murmurs went through the crowd at this, more than one hobbit wondering what a bride price was and what had been offered. Larkspur was curious about the latter herself, as neither Dwalin nor her father would discuss it with her. She made a mental note to force her husband to tell her later.

 _Husband_ , she chittered silently, her grin widening as she heard her father reply, "Offered and accepted."

Thorin nodded. "I now will speak the blessings of the Seven Families in the language of our forefathers. Though our laws dictate that the exact translation cannot be given to non-dwarves, I assure you all that they relate strongly to health, prosperity, and…fertility."

The last he said with a twinkle in his eye, before his deep baritone almost sang with resonance, the Khuzdul easily rolling off his tongue. Dwalin bowed his head as his cousin began to speak, as did Fíli and Kíli, so Larkspur did the same. When Thorin had finished, she looked up at Dwalin with a smile and was delighted to see that he once again had one for her. She then looked to her father, who kissed her cheek before at last placing her hand in Dwalin's.

The mayor grinned, then sobered before he began the next part. "Do you Larkspur, of your own free will, take this dwarf as your husband? Do you vow to give him your love and your loyalty, to stand with him in times of plenty and poverty, in times of sickness and health, and to give of your body only to him until you are parted by death?"

Looking up into Dwalin's eyes, Larkspur felt tears of joy sting her own as she said, "Before Yavanna, this I vow."

"Do you Dwalin, of your own free will, take this hobbit as your wife? Do you vow to give to her your love and your loyalty, to stand with her in times of plenty and poverty, in times of sickness and health, and to give of your body only to her until you are parted by death?"

Here, normally, a hobbit male would say the same words as Larkspur had. But due to the dwarves reverence for her husband, the declaration had been modified slightly, and Dwalin's reply was, "Before Mahal, this I vow."

The tears broke free of her hold and slipped down her cheeks. Larkspur felt her chest near to bursting with happiness as she and Dwalin now faced one another. Thorin again stepped forward, this time holding in his hand two beads. She could see that they were intricately carved and these featured not only rubies, but diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires as well, the stones arranged differently on each gold and silver bead. It was an extravagant gesture in her eyes, but she knew Dwalin wanted everyone—especially her family—to know that he could more than provide for her.

He picked up one of the beads and then reached for the braid over her right shoulder. "This bead I give to you represents our union. To every dwarf we meet, they will know you are wed. From this day until your last day—may it be very far from now—you are a daughter of the House of Durin."

With nimble fingers he added the bead to the braid, kissed it, then laid it back on her shoulder. Dwalin then reached for the braid on her left shoulder as he took the second bead held by his cousin. "This bead I give to you represents my solemn vow to build for you a home in which we will spend many years. By Mahal's grace, may that house be filled with joy, laughter, and children."

Though she could not have imagined it possible, Larkspur's smile widened even more as he brought the bead to his lips as he had the other. As he laid it back to her shoulder, Thorin stepped back and Patience stepped forward. In her hand she held three objects: two small silver clasps, one with a sapphire and the other a yellow diamond, and one larger gold clasp that had on it three gems. the third being a ruby. Thorin had helped her choose the stones and make the clasps, which she planned to add to Dwalin's beard.

Larkspur took the hair on the right of his courting braid and deftly wove another, then secured it with the clasp with the blue gemstone. "This bead I give to you represents you," she said. Then she took in her hands the hair to the left of his courting braid and wove a third; now all his beard was braided.

"This bead I give to you represents me," she said as she secured the braid with the clasp bearing the yellow stone.

Larkspur then gathered the three braids together and wrapped the larger clasp around them. "This bead I give to you represents _us_ ," she said, emphasizing the last word. She then echoed his words from moments ago, saying, "It represents our union. To every dwarf we meet, they will know you are wed. May we spend many years together, and by Yavanna's grace, may those years be filled with joy, laughter, and children."

Dwalin's smile was huge, the twinkle in his eyes from more than joy—misty they were, though it was so unlike her strong dwarf warrior to shed tears, even those of joy. More of her own happiness spilled over her cheeks to see him so moved.

"As mayor of Hobbiton, it is my proud honor to declare these happy folk are husband and wife. May Yavanna—and Mahal—forever smile upon you."

Cheers and applause erupted when Dwalin took his cue and with gentle hands at her cheeks, leaned his head down to kiss her. Larkspur threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with enthusiasm, and sighed deeply when he ended the kiss and touched his brow to hers.

"My husband," she said softly.

" _Yusthê_ ," he replied in Khuzdul.

Though she knew not the literal translation, Larkspur hazarded a guess that he had just said "My wife" in Khuzdul. She would ask him later what he actually said, but right now it did not matter.

Right now, all she could think about was that this was the happiest moment of her entire life.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Yasthûn ra Yasthûna_ \- husband and wife (lit. wife-man, masculine singular and wife-lady - bride - feminine singular; I could find no word for "husband" in the Khuzdul dictionary I have)

 _Yusthê_ \- my wife (lit. "wife" with possessive suffix -ê, which is "my")


	29. Chapter 29

**Thanks ever so much to my faithful reviewers: ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, readergirl4985, SethadoreVGC, and Robinbird79. Thanks also to new followers/favoriters major-fangirl-in-here17, yshxf, Zalz, and blushingpixie. Like any other writer, it makes my day when I get a review or see that someone else is following along on this adventure!**

 **I know you all are quite eager for our boys to be on their way south, and I promise that's coming—probably next chapter. I'm just as eager as you are, and probably more hopeful that my Muse has returned to Middle-earth for a good while. I can't wait to show you all what's in store!**

* * *

 **29\. Challenges**

* * *

The wedding went off without a hitch.

Larkspur looked beautiful in the ankle-length, pale yellow dress she wore, her sometimes wild hair tamed into a mass of curls and capped with a crown of yellow flowers. Dwalin had dressed in a fur-trimmed tunic of Durin blue, brown breeches, and a brand new pair of boots he had gone to Bree to purchase. Not one hair of his beard hung loose anymore, for Larkspur had added two new braids—one on each side of the first—and joined them with his courting braid, securing the three with a clasp Thorin had helped her make. Normally a dwarf male wore only a single marriage braid, but the symbolism of unity in Larkspur's idea, when she had presented it, had impressed the dwarves a great deal.

Now the reception—or wedding party, as the hobbits called it—was in full swing. Kíli was standing at the side of the crowd, a mug of ale in his hand, watching as Dwalin led Larkspur in a dance. The two seemed deliriously happy, and he was happy for them. But even as happy as he was that his distant cousin had found his One, he could not keep at bay the bitterness at having to accept that he had already lost his chance at such happiness.

How could Mahal be so generous to Dwalin and deny him the same? What was the point of having come back if he was to spend the rest of his life in misery?

"Oi, Kee," Fíli said suddenly in his ear as be bumped his shoulder. "They'll be coming soon."

Silently he thanked his brother for the distraction from his morose thoughts. Thorin had planned a special surprise for Dwalin with the men in Larkspur's family: a _haka_. It was a dwarrow tradition dating back thousands of years, its origins steeped in violence. Now that violence was symbolically presented in a form of dance.

The two young dwarves moved to their designated positions as a sharp cry was heard over the merry noise of the wedding guests. All dancing and conversation halted as heads turned toward the source of the noise. Then the crowd parted as a party of bare-chested hobbit males—Larkspur's father and seven brothers—stalked through on their way toward the bride and groom.

Dwalin turned and looked toward Thorin, who lifted an eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. No words needed be said between them, the former knowing what the latter had done for him. He then leaned down and spoke into Larkspur's ear and she stepped back to stand at the side of his kin, a look of utter confusion on her face as he turned to face hers.

Isembold began to shout in Khuzdul, his words repeated by his sons. Kíli bit back a smile, knowing the Took men had no idea what they were really saying—Thorin had greatly simplified the translation when he had proposed the idea to Larkspur's kinsmen. That they had memorized the words and the moves of the dance was another thing that had impressed Thorin in the last week, as it typically took several to get both right. Chances were the Tooks would make a few mistakes, but when they understood what the _haka_ was about, they'd been determined to do their best. To his uncle, that was enough.

The bride herself asked for an explanation now, as her father and brothers began slapping their chests as they chanted the words they'd truly tried hard to learn.

"What is going on? What is this?" she asked as Dwalin began to remove his tunic.

"It is the _mat'chal_ , my lady. The mating challenge," Thorin replied.

"They're challenging him?!" she cried with alarm. "Why are they challenging him—I thought everything was settled? Dwalin and I are bloody married for goodness sake!"

"It's a tradition that dates back to the beginning of our race," said Thorin. "Of the Seven Fathers of our people created by Mahal himself, our direct ancestor, Durin the Deathless, was the only one who was not given a bride. He had to seek his mate from among the daughters of his brethren."

"He did not know that Mahal had already determined which was to be his bride," Fíli said, taking up the narrative. "The _mat'chal_ was begun as a way for him—and those that followed until we came to know Mahal had chosen for us—to prove he was worthy of the dam he had chosen. It was a way for him to prove he could provide for and protect her."

"Be glad it is only a dance they do," Kíli put in as they watched the _haka_ continue. "In ancient times a dwarf literally had to fight for his mate, often to the death. Too many times the groom lost, leading to his bride killing herself in grief. And so the _haka_ , a ritual dance, was created to take the place of the _mat'chal_."

"What are they saying?" Larkspur asked, jumping as Dwalin and the Took men all but screamed back and forth as they stomped their feet and alternatively slapped their thighs and chests.

Thorin chuckled. "Loosely translated, they are demanding he prove he will honor and cherish you for the rest of your life. His replies are oaths much like the vows you took; he is giving them his word that he will treat you as his greatest treasure."

Kíli watched Larkspur's face as Thorin spoke; her expression went from alarmed to curious to overjoyed, her eyes brimming with tears.

It had been a long shot, Thorin's suggestion that they get her male family to perform the _haka_. Larkspur's father was the only one that had shown any warmth toward Dwalin or any happiness regarding their union, at least until the older four brothers and their families had arrived. Much to the dwarves'—and Bilbo's—surprise, Caradoc, Pardo, Bilius, and Tongo were much more accepting of their sister's choice of husband than the younger three. Caradoc, the eldest, had stated he was not surprised at all, given her long-standing desire to go on an adventure of her own.

Dwalin had confessed that Caradoc had given him a "brotherly" warning, declaring his life forfeit should he cause Larkspur any pain. He had already given them all his word he would not, but doing so in the language of the dwarves—which he was doing now—would mean so much more to him.

The hobbits watched in silent fascination the spectacle before them. When it was finished and the participants had bowed to one another, the crowd of wedding guests erupted into raucous cheers. They surrounded the Took men as Dwalin turned and headed straight for his bride, whom he kissed deeply. He then moved over to Thorin and threw his arms around him in a bear hug.

"Thank you," Kíli heard him whisper, his voice thick with emotion.

"You are most welcome, cousin," Thorin replied. "I am only sorry your brother was not here to witness this."

His uncle sighed as the two parted, and he studied Dwalin's face a moment before saying, "I fear one day you will resent me for the burden of silence I have placed upon you. Balin should have been here to watch you marry your One."

Kíli looked to Dwalin for his reaction. "Thorin, I knew the sacrifice I was making when I chose to accompany you on this journey. No doubt Balin will be rightly pissed when he finds out—as he inevitably will one day—and I'll have to live with the pain I caused him. But that will be my burden to bear. Not yours."

Thorin studied his face for a moment before nodding. Just then a blushing Posie Proudfoot came up to them and handed Dwalin his tunic, which he promptly put back on before leading Larkspur out for another dance. Posie then turned her eyes to Kíli, her eyebrows raised slightly, but he turned away from her and headed towards the tables holding the kegs of ale.

Fíli stepped up beside him as he was pouring his drink. "Are you blind?" he asked.

Kíli frowned. "You're still ugly, so no."

His brother turned and leaned back against the table with a shake of his head. "You must be without sight, _nadad_ , because you clearly did not see that young lass look at you with hope you'd ask her to dance."

Kíli resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he took a swig from his mug. "Have you considered that I'm simply not interested in dancing?"

"Whyever not? Posie's a sweet girl—"

"Then why don't you dance with her?"

"Because she's not interested in me."

With a sigh, Kíli turned away from the barrels of ale, and his brother. Fíli followed him to an empty table and slipped into the seat across from his. "Kee, what's going on? This is a party! We're supposed to be celebrating Dwalin getting married."

"Then go celebrate and leave me be. I'm happy for Dwalin but I'm in no mood to party," Kíli replied.

Fíli stared at him for a long moment and then loosed a ragged sigh. "This is about Tauriel, isn't it? Mahal's balls, Kee, it's been six months since you found out she'd married someone else. How can you not have accepted it?"

Kíli scowled. "I have accepted it, thank you very much," he snapped. As he took another drink of his ale, he noted Fíli watching him with one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest. He hated, sometimes, that his brother knew him so well.

He growled softly as he set his mug down a little hard on the table. "Don't you think," he began, "that it's a little odd you, Uncle, and I are the ones who came back from the dead, supposedly for some great purpose, but all the focus lately has been on Dwalin?"

Again Fíli studied him, then bit back a laugh. "Are you…are you _jealous_?"

"I wouldn't say it quite like that," Kíli returned with a scoff. "But…"

He sighed again. "I will admit to a great amount of envy. Dwalin is so fecking happy it almost makes me sick. You and Thorin have managed to accept this new life of ours with no trouble at all. Why can't I? Why am I so bloody miserable?"

Fíli reached across the table and grabbed his ale out of his hand. After taking a swig, he set it down and pushed it back toward him as he said, "Believe it or not, I get you. I still ask myself here and there why the devil we came back when we did. Why didn't we get to save our _amad_?"

"That's just it, brother—she's the only reason I came back," Kíli said, leaning toward him. "Remember that I saw Tauriel in the ether when we were still in the Halls of Waiting. I knew then she'd moved on, and though it cut me deep I accepted it. Seeing her after our rebirth was hard, but that honestly had more to do with not remembering I'd already known. Having learned I would not get to be with her, I had only one motivation for coming back here and that was our mother. I wanted to keep the promise I made when we left the Blue Mountains."

His brother's expression was one of sympathy. Fíli opened his mouth to speak, but Kíli stopped him. "I just… I don't understand why we had to lose her. I don't understand why I can't seem to find any joy in this new life—for goodness' sake, I'm alive! Yes, losing Tauriel to Bard stung and coming back to keep my promise only to lose _Amad_ as well was tragic, but I have died and was reborn. Why does that not comfort me?"

Fíli sighed heavily as he rose and moved around the table. "How do you do it?" Kíli asked as his brother plopped down beside him. "How does Thorin do it?"

"The first days were not easy, not after we lost _Amad_ ," Fíli confessed. "I raged at our Maker. I asked him why she had suffered, why our return did not save her. I got no answers to those questions. And though it was hard doing so, I came to accept that I'll only learn the answers when I am called again to the Great Forge. Perhaps not even then—I may just be happy to be reunited with our mother and father and I won't care anymore.

"Until then," he went on, "I have decided to be grateful for the second chance I've been given. I've another opportunity to live a full life—another chance to meet my One, to have bairns of my own."

Kíli looked at him. "You want to be a father?" Fíli nodded. "How did I not know that?"

Fíli chuckled. "If I don't keep _some_ secrets from you, little brother, how will you ever learn anything new? Yes, I want to be an _adad_ someday, to pass on everything that _Amad_ and Thorin taught us about what it is to be a dwarf."

Kíli snorted. "You just want to pass on your obsession with blades."

Fíli's grin widened. "That too. And like I said before, knowing I no longer have the burden of one day being king on my shoulders means I've more time to just enjoy my life. When I do meet my One—and by Durin's beard I'd better, if a crusty old codger like Dwalin is allowed to find his—I won't have to divide my attention between her and politics. I won't have to sacrifice time with my family to manage the seven kingdoms."

It sounded to him like his brother had a really good grip on things. That he did not only served to make Kíli feel worse.

"What about Thorin?" he ventured to ask.

His brother looked across the way to where their uncle stood talking with Bilbo and Isembold Took. "Thorin's putting on a brave face," Fíli said. "His handling things well is partly an act. He's always been good at coping with change, but I think deep down he's scared."

"You're not serious—Thorin? Scared of what, exactly?" Kíli queried.

"Think about it, Kee. His whole life, he's had one destiny in mind: becoming king. Now he doesn't have that. Thorin's grateful to be alive, I'm certain, but he has no idea what to do with himself now that he's no longer got the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"But what makes you think he's afraid?"

"This look he gets sometimes when he thinks no one is watching. I've seen him stare off into the distance as though he is concentrating hard on something, and his eyes will widen as though he's thought of something dire. It's very much the same expression he got when we first asked him if we could join the quest—and also at Bard's when you had asked if he would have preferred mother remaining at home."

The memory elicited a half smile from him. "I remember. Both times he asked if we were mad."

Fíli laughed. "I'll never forget the look on his face; it was priceless to see him scared of our mother."

The elder dwarrow sighed then. "Another thing that I think scares him a bit is what may be waiting for us in the White Mountains. Thorin is firm in his belief that it is where Mahal desires he go, but not knowing what lies ahead has always disconcerted him."

"True," Kíli conceded with a nod. "Our uncle has never been comfortable with not knowing the odds.

"But what of me, Fíli? I believe I am grateful to not be dead, but why am I not happy? Why can I not be as hopeful as you?"

Kíli braced his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands as he felt the despair he battled each day begin to rise within him. "I'm so tired of pretending I'm all right. So tired of smiling and chatting as if I don't wish I could just curl into a ball and ignore the world around me."

He felt Fíli grip his shoulder and give it a squeeze. "I am so sorry, _naddith_ ," he said softly. "It grieves me deeply to know you are hurting. I wish I knew how to help you break free of your pain, but I don't. I can only be here for you if you ever feel like talking. Or I'll bully you into it, you know I'm good at that. And I can only tell you to have faith—in yourself, in your family, and most importantly in our Maker. While the timing of our return was _rukhs kakhf_ , I have to believe that we'd not have been allowed to come back at all were there not a good reason for it. And I refuse to believe that Mahal would consent to our having to sacrifice all that we have if there were not some form of reward for all of us."

Dragging a hand over his face, Kíli at last sat straight and looked over at his brother. "Do you really believe that? That we'll all be rewarded for having to give up so much?"

"I have to believe it, Kee. Otherwise what is the point of our returning at all?" Fíli replied.

"What indeed," Kíli agreed.


	30. Chapter 30

**A great big "thank you" to the reviewers of chapter 29: Robinbird79, readpink, readergirl4985, and ThatOtherWriterGirl. So lovely to hear from you all! And if you're reading the story but haven't reviewed, that's okay—I am just glad you're reading it and I hope you're enjoying it!**

 **Oh, and there's a smidgen of a love scene in the first part of this chapter. Nothing too descriptive (I believe you'd call it "smut lite"), but I figured I would let you all know ahead of time.**

* * *

 **30\. Going Forward**

"Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."

~ The First Doctor, _Doctor Who_

* * *

Dwalin could tell the closer they got to her house, the more nervous Larkspur became.

In truth, he was nervous as well. He had lain with females before and he knew various ways to please them between the bedclothes. But this was different—Larkspur was different. He had no way of knowing if what daughters of Men found pleasurable would be so to a hobbit lass, not to mention that his own sexual appetite had once been voracious. Would his new wife be keen to lay with him as often he would surely desire to lay with her?

As soon as they entered the house she headed for the mantle over the main fireplace; snatching a matchstick from the box there, she set about lighting candles around the parlor.

Dwalin removed his boots and set them by the door, then walked up behind Larkspur as she was blowing the flame out on the matchstick. He felt her tremble, heard her soft intake of breath as he laid his hands on her shoulders, her reaction to his touch adding fuel to the fire that had been slowly consuming him since the first time he had kissed her.

"Do not be frightened, _Kardûna_ ," he whispered in her ear as he gently massaged her shoulders.

"I… I'm not frightened so much as I…" She paused and drew a breath. "I do not know what to say, or what to do now. Everything's changed."

"Say whatever you like," he told her. "And do whatever you like—or do nothing."

Larkspur leaned back into him with a sigh. He continued to minister to her with his hands as she said, "I want to please you, Dwalin. You are my husband now, it is my duty—"

"My wife you may be, but I'll not force you. If you are not ready to take the next step with me, you have only to say so. I have waited this long for you, I can wait a little while longer if I must."

She scoffed and turned her head to look up at him. "No you can't. Do you think me unaware of you? I can feel your reaction to me, my love. I can feel your need."

Larkspur then moved out of his grasp, stopping a step away. "Will you undo the laces?" she asked softly.

"With pleasure," Dwalin replied, and reached for the thin yellow strings keeping the bodice of her gown closed.

Every inch of her skin that he exposed was exquisite torture, and he wanted very much to do more than lightly brush its softness as he opened the back of her dress. But he would not rush her. She was inexperienced whereas he was not, and he would allow her all the time she needed to be comfortable with him no matter how painfully his flesh strained inside his trousers.

When he finished his task, Dwalin took a step back.

"Thank you," Larkspur said.

"You are welcome, _Kardûna_."

She glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. "Don't forget to lock the door," she told him as she walked away, pulling on her sleeves as she did so. Dwalin found he could do naught but stare as her boldness returned and she allowed the dress to fall to the floor, her gait not faltering once as she stepped out of it and continued toward the hallway.

The little sashay she added to her stride nearly did him in, and he was quick to head over to the door and throw the lock. When he turned around she'd disappeared, but it was not long before he found her: standing by the bed in her room wearing only her breast binding and under-breeches. She had grabbed a matchstick on her way out of the parlor and lit two candles, one on each bedside table. Dwalin watched with wide eyes, his breath becoming shallow with each draw, as she reached 'round her back, unfastened the breast binding, and discarded it.

Iron-clad control was the only thing that prevented his coming undone. He reached for the buttons of his tunic as she next removed her under-breeches.

"Do…do you like what you see?" she asked as her cheeks flushed and she looked down to the floor.

He divested himself of his shirt before he stepped toward her, gently lifting her chin until their eyes met.

"I love what I see," Dwalin told her. "I loved it before, and even more so now."

And then he kissed her, with all the passion and pent-up need that had burned inside him for months. Larkspur responded immediately, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as he plundered her mouth. It was a long moment before they broke away from one another to draw breath, and Dwalin took the opportunity to rid himself of his trousers and underclothes.

Larkspur's eyes widened when she saw him in all his natural glory. "Oh my…" she whispered as she reached out to touch him.

Dwalin closed his eyes as his bride began to explore his body with her hands. He reveled in her touch, in the tremble of her cool fingers against his fiery-hot skin. When she carefully took his cock in her grasp he wrapped his hand around hers and opened his eyes to capture her gaze. He bent his head to kiss her again as he guided her in stroking him. When Larkspur moaned he let go her hand and reached down to pick her up, moving to lay her on the bed.

"Do not be frightened," he whispered as he positioned their bodies to be joined.

Larkspur lifted a hand to his cheek. "I do not fear that you will hurt me. Whatever discomfort may come, I know it will pass."

"I love you, Larkspur," Dwalin said.

She smiled. "And I love you, Dwalin. Now take what you have longed for—make me yours."

And he did… all night long, and every day and night for the next week.

 **-...-**

"I can hardly believe this day is here," said Posie with a sniffle. "I thought you might go to see the elves one day with Bilbo, but never did I imagine you would leave and not come back."

Fíli watched Larkspur hug her friend tightly. "It's not forever, Posie, I promise you. You _will_ see me again."

Of that the young dwarrow had no doubt—she and Dwalin would keep their promise to return—but it would be some time before they did. Their day of departure from the Shire had arrived, and it would be near three months before they reached even the closest arm of the White Mountains. After that it would be months before they were truly settled, and if Mahal continued his blessings on Dwalin and Larkspur, she'd be carrying a bairn before year's end.

More than likely, it would be well past a year before the couple, married just a fortnight, would be able to make time for a visit to these peaceful lands.

More goodbyes were exchanged all around. The hobbits each dwarf had worked for were reluctant to see them go. In a way, Fíli was sad to be leaving—the Shire was an incredible place to live, the land green and plentiful, the people friendly and engaging. But it wasn't home. He didn't know where that was anymore—did not know if they would find it in the White Mountains as Thorin seemed to believe. He only knew he had to try, especially for Kíli's sake.

Stunned did not truly describe how his brother's confession on the night of Dwalin's wedding made him feel. It was not so much that he was surprised Kíli was depressed—he and the others had been concerned about his state of mind for some time. What had struck him most was that he had been unaware of how deeply miserable his brother was. Kíli had put on a mask to the world, much the same as Thorin, and for the most part they had believed he was coping as well as he could. It bothered Fíli very much that he had not seen the true depth of Kíli's pain. Closer to each other than anyone else they were, and he had been blind.

Now, Fíli knew, the truth was that Kíli wasn't really coping at all. He was barely existing. Oh, he'd continued to pretend all was well—he still laughed and joked and carried on as though he'd not confessed he was dreadfully unhappy. Fíli had made it a point to spend as much time with him as he could so that he was never alone. He did not think Kíli would harm himself, but neither did he want to give his brother's tortured mind anymore room to dwell on the dark emotions broiling in his heart.

There _must_ be a light at the end of the tunnel he saw himself in, Fíli had mused more than once over the last two weeks. Surely Mahal would not leave his brother to endure a misery far too much like that which had taken their mother and not provide him relief.

It was in that moment, as he watched Kíli saying goodbye to the owner of the Green Dragon, that Fíli suddenly understood why his mother had been okay with dying, why she had not fought harder to regain her strength so that she would live with her sons again. As Larkspur had said all those months ago, when they'd first come to the Shire… all she had needed was to _see_ them again. To know that they would go on had been enough for her.

It did not make the loss of her any less painful, but Fíli smiled, because he understood. That the Maker had kept his promise to his mother had been _her_ relief.

He prayed it was not long before Kíli found his, for he did not believe he could handle losing his brother as well.

"Let us be going," Thorin said sternly. "We have many miles to travel."

Fíli sighed and turned to mount his pony. He watched Kíli climb onto his and saw Dwalin helping Larkspur into the seat of the wagon, to which his own pony had been hitched.

"I guess this truly is goodbye, then," said Bilbo. "Though I thank the Valar it is not the forever kind from before."

Thorin nodded. "Indeed, Master Baggins. This is not the forever kind—I have no doubt we will see each other again."

The two embraced, Thorin clapping Bilbo on the back before he turned and climbed into the saddle on his pony. He then reached into a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Do me a favor, if you will, and see to it this letter gets to Dáin. I have no doubt my cousin is fretting like a female over not having heard from us since our departure."

"Oi, I resemble that comment, Thorin Oakenshield!" Larkspur said.

Fíli noted that his uncle was suppressing a grin as Bilbo took the letter. "I will take care of it, you have my word," the hobbit declared.

They had started forward with Thorin in the lead when a shout to "Wait!" was heard. Fíli turned and saw Merroc, one of Larkspur's brothers, come jogging toward them. He stopped, holding up a hand as he caught his breath, on Dwalin's side of the wagon.

"I know… I know we're not on the best of terms, Mister Dwalin," Merroc began at last. "I wasn't the kind of hobbit my parents raised me to be towards you, and I have to live with that shame. Just… do me a favor and take care of my sister. Keep her happy—make her smile every single day. She's… she's my baby sister, my only sister, and I just want her to be happy. No tears, no regrets, no anxieties. Just happy."

Dwalin exchanged a look with a teary-eyed Larkspur before climbing down from the wagon and drawing Merroc into a tight embrace. "Oh my honor, brother, her every moment will be filled with joy. She'll not know a second's sorrow if I've anything to say about it."

Merroc returned the embrace, then offered Dwalin a nod when they stepped apart. To his sister he blew a kiss before he turned and walked away, wiping at his eyes. The warrior dwarf stared after the younger male a moment before he climbed back into the wagon and they were on their way again.

When the five of them stopped to camp later on that night, Fíli heard Larkspur humming as she prepared their dinner. It was a tune that was vaguely familiar.

"What's that song, Lark?" he asked her. "I feel certain I have heard it before but cannot place it."

She laughed. "'Tis because you have heard it, no doubt—it's a common melody at the Green Dragon."

"Why don't you sing for us, _Kardûna_?" Dwalin asked.

Larkspur froze, and even in the firelight Fíli could see color filling her cheeks. "I… Dwalin, I only did that for you—I don't sing in front of others. For all my brashness, my dear, I… well, it's the one thing I've not been able to do with eyes upon me."

"Perhaps the thought of strangers judging you was intimidating," Thorin spoke up. "But you need not fear such from us. You are among family."

She studied him across the fire for a moment before turning her attention back to the food. "I'll think about it."

It was sometime after they had all eaten their fill and Thorin had made Fíli wash the dishes, the four males laid back smoking their pipes—Larkspur naturally ensconced in the circle of her husband's arms, her eyes gazing up at the stars—that the hobbit lass treated them to a song.

It was the one she'd been humming earlier, Fíli noted as he sat up slowly. Kíli sat up as well.

" _Home is behind, the world ahead. And there are many paths to tread. Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight. Mist and shadow, cloud and shade… all shall fade. All shall fade_."

"You have a lovely voice," Thorin said when silence had fallen.

"Exactly what I told her," Dwalin agreed.

"You're just saying that," Larkspur muttered.

"No, it's true," Fíli put in. "I would love to hear another; should help me relax."

She laughed. "Do you wish me to sing you to sleep like a babe?"

Dwalin snuggled her closer. "Might be good practice," he teased.

"Haven't you already got enough of that in?" asked Kíli, his expression so perfectly serious that Fíli was hard-pressed to keep from laughing.

Dwalin picked up a rock and threw it at the younger dwarrow; Kíli easily dodged it. "What? For all we know she could be with child right now. It's been known to happen on a dwarf's wedding night."

Larkspur shifted in Dwalin's lap. "Let's not be putting the cart before the pony, eh Kíli? My husband and I would like some time to enjoy each other's company before the little ones start coming along."

Kíli laid back down on his bedroll. "Well, you'll get plenty of time in each other's company for the next three months, though little to no…practice."

" _Kíli_ ," Dwalin growled softly.

His brother was in one of his lighter moods this evening, and so Fíli could not pass up the opportunity to join him in a little ribbing. "He's right you know. We've a waterproof tent for the rainy days, but the two of you won't be alone until we reach Dwarrowvale. When are you going to have time to do any practicing?"

A clearly embarrassed Larkspur turned her face into Dwalin's chest, and the rock flying at him in the next instant had been thrown by Thorin.

"That is enough," his uncle said sternly. "Do you wish Larkspur to regret joining this family?"

Fíli suppressed the laughter bubbling up in his chest, as well as the remark about it not being too late for her to turn back for Hobbiton, as they were still in the Shire.

"It's quite all right, Thorin," Larkspur said then. "I'll just make the rascals sing for their supper tomorrow—and their breakfast!"

Kíli covered his ears with his hands. "Oi, not that! Anything but Fíli singing—he couldn't hold a tune to save his life."

Still having Thorin's projectile in his hand—he'd managed to catch it just before it hit him between the eyes—Fíli lobbed it at his brother's leg, eliciting a sharp "Ow!" from him.

"I will have you know, Kíli, that I can so sing!"

And so for the next few minutes, "Blunt the Knives" rent the open air. He was joined not only by Kíli, but Dwalin and Thorin as well.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you ever so much to my awesome Rockstar Reviewers from chapter 30: ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, readpink, SethadoreVGC, readergirl4985, and PerfectPrincess5. Thanks also to new reader Pergjithshme for being so interested in the beginning—I hope you come back for more! Those of you following along quietly, I thank you too!**

 **SethadoreVGC—Yes, this story (the whole series, really) will eventually connect to LotR. Not sure yet if I'll write it as one long story or make the connections in a separate story, though right now leaning toward the former. Will just have to see what works better when I get to that point.**

 **PerfectPrincess—So happy you liked that teasing. That just seemed like something Fee and Kee would do to a newly married friend (or family member, in this case)!**

* * *

 **31\. Fond Memories and Wishful Thinking**

* * *

Thorin and his little company were six days out of Hobbiton, and though he'd have liked to be further on toward their destination by now, he knew they had made good progress.

Some care, of course, had been taken for Larkspur's sake. She had ridden in the wagon each day for her safety and comfort, but not being used to travel, even she had found the long days exhausting; as before, they rose at dawn and did not stop to make camp until the sky turned black and was dotted with starlight. The frequent mealtimes she'd known all her life were no more, at least for the time being, and so she had less energy. The hobbit lass's growing weariness had prompted her husband to ask if they might take a day of rest. Fíli had seconded the notion, saying that as they were soon to leave the woods of Buckland behind for the open plains of Minhiriath, it would do their party a service to add to their store of meat.

Unable to argue against the logic of his nephew's suggestion, Thorin had relented. Fíli and Kíli were now deep into the nearby woods searching for game, while Larkspur scanned the vicinity just inside their border—Dwalin would not allow her to go further and thus out of his sight—for edible plants to supplement their meals. Dwalin and Thorin were refilling the barrel they had near drained with water from the Brandywine River.

"One would not think," Thorin grumbled, "that so much water could be consumed in less than a week's time."

Dwalin snorted, pausing yet again to roam his gaze across the treeline in search of his wife. "And when have you ever bothered to measure the quantity consumed?"

"Be that as it may," Thorin said as he passed the bucket they were using back to his cousin. "How is it that the five of us have drank so much?"

"You're forgetting the ponies," Dwalin pointed out, then filled the bucket again and handed it to Thorin. "Four grown dwarf males, a wee hobbit lass, and four sturdy ponies can clearly consume a fair amount of water. It was a good thing Isembold insisted we take on a couple of barrels that we could carry some with us."

They had taken two, as suggested, and though one was still full, Larkspur had wisely advised they refill the other while the opportunity was present.

Thorin nodded his agreement as he dumped what turned out to be the last bucketful into the barrel. "Aye. Your father-by-marriage was wise to do so. However, we may need to begin rationing once we've left the Brandywine behind, for it will be near a week until we reach the Greyflood."

As they were carrying the barrel back to camp, Larkspur was coming toward them, her baskets laden and her smile wide.

"Just wait until you see what I've found!" she said with excitement.

"What have you there, my flower?" Dwalin asked.

Larkspur grinned as she sat the baskets near the campfire. "We are in luck! I found some wild asparagus, chicory, dandelion, and—" Here she paused and plucked a puffy gray…thing…from her bounty. "Truffles!"

Though even Thorin was hard-pressed to contain a grin at her high spirits, he nevertheless favored her with a feigned scowl and spoke with mock sternness as he said to Dwalin, " _Iraknadad_ , I do wish you would rein in your female, as I suspect she intends to make us into rabbits."

The female in question stood straight at his words, her hands fisted on her hips. "I will have you know, Mister Oakenshield, that a well-rounded diet includes not only meat, but fruits and vegetables as well," she scolded him as he and Dwalin lifted the barrel of water into the wagon. "And as you have designated me company cook—no doubt due to my being the singular female and some misguided notion that cooking is 'the work of females'—you will eat what is fixed unless you're of a mind to go hungry!"

With his cousin suddenly avoiding his gaze—and attempting in vain to curtail his amusement—Thorin had no recourse but to let his own burst forth. Amidst his laughter he managed, "Are you certain there is no dwarf blood in you? For you've an unnervingly Dwarven habit of being mouthy."

"Thorin, flattery will not save you from having to eat a few vegetables," Larkspur deadpanned, before she flashed a grin and then spun into a squat to sort through her finds.

Thorin shook his head and sighed as he leaned back against the side of the wagon and drew out his pipe. "It has been too long, I think, since I have spent much time in the company of a female. Your bride is a handful, Dwalin."

"Oh, I don't know," Dwalin said, mimicking his pose and pulling out his own pipe and tobacco. "You seem to be handling her just fine."

Blowing out a lungful of smoke before replying, Thorin said quietly, "Larkspur truly does remind me very much of Dís. I see my sister in the way she bosses Fíli and Kíli around, and hear Dís in the way she sasses you and I."

"Aye," Dwalin agreed. "Lark looks not a thing like Dís, but her personality is almost a spot-on match."

A few minutes passed in near silence, the only sounds heard that of the nearby river, intermittent trills of birdsong, and Larkspur puttering around the campsite.

"I miss her, Dwalin." Mahal, he had said it out loud, Thorin mused. He felt gutted. "I miss the way she would tear into her sons when they'd been bloody fools, and I miss how passionately she would defend them when they'd done no wrong. I miss…"

He paused, needing to steady himself lest his emotions break free—even now, in the company of his closest friend and kinsman, Thorin did not feel comfortable letting go the tight leash they were on.

"Do you know what I miss most about her?" Dwalin asked, likely having sensed he was straining for control. Thorin shook his head. "What I miss is how your sister could command the attention of even the most tight-arsed nobles. That dam gave dwarrow two and three times her size tongue-lashings the likes of which only their mothers had ever given 'em, and she did it with absolutely no fear. And when you'd get overwhelmed—I know it happened on occasion—she would simply pick up the slack and make sure whatever needed to got done. Oh, and the rows she would get into with you! 'Don't be a sodding idiot, Thorin! Listen to what I'm telling you.'"

Pain lanced through Thorin's chest. Though Dwalin's recollection was of words his sister had said to him countless times, what hurt now was that it was one of the last things she had said to him before the quest. He'd promised nothing would happen to her boys, and he had let her down.

His cousin must have realized his inadvertent blunder, for he said, "Forgive me. I did not mean to pour salt in the wound."

Thorin chanced a brief glance to his right—Dwalin indeed looked pained for having reminded him. "I had no idea you'd overheard that particular argument," he said.

"There were many who did, though none but my fool self who'd ever likely say so," Dwalin replied.

Again silence fell between them. They were both of them surprised when Larkspur suddenly appeared with two steaming mugs in her hands, which she handed to them wordlessly before stretching to kiss Dwalin's cheek. To Thorin she gave a small smile before she walked away.

He took a tentative sip of the beverage in the cup. It was tea—chamomile if he was not mistaken—that had been sweetened with honey. When had she gotten water? he wondered.

"You know, I confessed to Kíli our last night in Bree that I'd considered courting his mother," said Dwalin suddenly.

Thorin frowned. "You fancied Dís?"

"Why wouldn't I?" his companion countered. "We were far apart enough in relation so as to make a union between us possible, and she was a beautiful dam. Stubborn as an ox, that one, but boy was she beautiful. Even when she was angry, she was lovely."

The soft but pointed clearing of a throat caused them both to turn and look over their shoulders. Larkspur sat with her back to them, perched on a small log Dwalin had placed by the campfire. Thorin leaned his head closer as they turned as one to look back toward the river.

"You might wish to be careful in further praise of my sister, or you'll soon see how lovely in anger looks the lass you _did_ wed," he said softly.

Dwalin chuckled. "Indeed, though for the record, there's not a female in the world what compares to my One. Not even Dís."

When Larkspur conveniently began humming a peppy tune, Thorin grinned at his cousin. _Nice save_ , he mouthed, to which Dwalin nodded.

The younger dwarrow looked back over his shoulder a moment, then said in a low voice, "Speaking of Larkspur's temper, have you noticed she's grown somewhat…grumpy of late?"

"She's certainly groused about not getting to eat as often as she is used to," Thorin said.

"Aye, but it's more than that," Dwalin persisted. "Haven't you noticed she's been a mite snappish the last few days? And when we do sit down to a meal, she eats more than Kíli—and we both know how much food that boy can put away."

Now that he considered it, the hobbit _had_ been more tempestuous than was her norm. Thorin suddenly realized that the lightness from moments ago was the first time she had teased him in two days.

"Do you think the pace I set too grueling? Perhaps keeping a basket of food in the seat with her would keep her happy," Thorin suggested.

"No, and that's probably a good idea," Dwalin said. "I just… I can't help but wonder if Kíli was right."

"About what?"

Dwalin scoffed. "Don't be daft, Thorin. Could he have been right in that she is already with child?"

Thorin recalled the joking suggestion of his nephew from their first night on the road. "It is certainly possible," he conceded. "Our males are quite virile, and are more so when mated to their One. It is said that's why we rarely sire children when simply bedding females for pleasure."

"Or it could be because brothel girls are known to take tinctures to prevent conception," Dwalin pointed out. "But that aside, I cannot help but think pregnancy may be the cause of her sudden changes in mood."

"Dwalin, we don't even know if the two of you will be able to have children together. You are the first hobbit-dwarf pairing known to us."

"I refuse to believe that Mahal would choose her for me and then deny me a son or two to carry on the family blood."

"Okay then," Thorin said, "consider this: You and Larkspur have not yet been married a full moon. You've not even lain with her since we left Hobbiton."

Dwalin cleared his throat before taking a drink of his tea. He looked down into the cup as he said in a low voice, "Yes, I have."

Thorin looked to him with an appraising expression. "How? When? Wait, forget I asked. I do not think I want to know."

"I was actually planning to set the tent up tonight to give us more privacy," Dwalin confessed. "'Twas only twice since our departure, which my lady wife was reluctant to engage in for fear we would be caught."

"I should have allowed you the tent every night," Thorin said then. "The two of you are wed, you deserve time alone together. At the least, she deserves some privacy for bathing and changing."

"Thank you. I appreciate the gesture, and not just for the obvious reasons."

"Don't think you're going to get out of sitting watch _every_ night," Thorin warned him.

Dwalin drained the tea in his cup, then gazed at Thorin in what he probably thought was an innocent smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Thorin took another drink of the tea. "It would bring me great joy to know you have sired offspring, _Iraknadad_ , but I feel it my duty to caution you against getting your hopes up. I suspect it is much too soon to tell if Larkspur has conceived, and the change in her daily routine may well be the only reason she has of late been out of sorts."

Beside him, Dwalin nodded. "Wise are your words, _bahûnê_ , but if it's all the same to you, I shall still hope that not long from now I will hear her say we are soon to have a son."

Choosing to say nothing further—who was he to dash another dwarf's hope for children?—Thorin sighed, then continued to smoke his pipe and drink his tea in silence. Although he had seen the wisdom in taking a day off from travel, he found himself nevertheless itching to get back on the road. He'd not said anything to the others, but ever since their journey had begun, he'd been having a recurring dream featuring snow-capped mountains. Always he was moving toward them.

The vision would visit his slumber two to four times a week throughout the journey to the Shire and in the months they had spent there, but since leaving Bilbo's home he had seen it every night. In the first weeks he had asked for answers—what was waiting for him in the White Mountains? The Maker had remained silent, to which he was truly very little surprised. It had occurred to him that the vague clues he had received before reawakening in Dale were all the hints he would get, which served to both intrigue and aggravate him. He'd thought his heart's desire was to rule Erebor, yet he had given it up so easily. Had he refused to accept the loss of his kingship he'd not have been reborn, and Fíli and Kíli would have been returned to Middle-earth whether he'd chosen to come back or not.

So what did he really come back for?

His self-examination was interrupted by the noisy return of his nephews. Kíli came barreling toward the camp with a wolf carcass in his arms; Fíli soon appeared with a young buck over his shoulders.

"Help me!" Kíli shouted as he lowered the wolf's body to the ground by the campfire. "I didn't know she was pregnant—the pups will die if we don't get them out!"

Thorin and Dwalin moved immediately toward the fire as Larkspur demanded a knife.

"How long ago did you kill her?" she asked as she knelt beside the body and felt along the belly.

"I don't know—ten minutes maybe?" Kíli replied.

"We think she scented blood from the buck," Fíli put in as he slid the deer off his shoulders. "She went after the carcass and Kee took her out. When we approached, that's when we noticed she was carrying."

"I picked her up and ran straight back here."

"By the size of her, she was within a week or two of birthing," Larkspur mused as she took the knife Kíli handed her and began to make a cut along the wolf's midline. "Don't know if we'll save the babes—"

"Why bother trying?" Thorin asked. "She went after our kill."

Larkspur paused half a second to shoot him a withering glare. "Because, Thorin, she was a young mother trying to feed herself and thus nourish her young. If there's even the remotest chance the pups can be saved, I'm going to do it."

"Again, what is the point when they now have no mother to care for them?" he pressed.

"I'll be their mother," she replied, as she did so reaching inside the body through the hole she'd made. "I've raised a litter of pups before when the mother died—I daresay wolf babes aren't much different than dogs'."

A look from Dwalin told him there'd be no changing the hobbit's mind so Thorin chose to forego arguing further. He still did not see the point of trying to save pups which were likely to die anyway, if they weren't already gone. But then, if she managed to save one or two, caring for them would keep her occupied and her temper in check. That would keep the peace between her and Dwalin, not to mention it would simply make his new cousin happy.

Larkspur's emergency surgery revealed a litter of five. Of those, two were already dead. While she directed Kíli in helping her clean and stimulate the remaining three, Thorin and Dwalin gave Fíli a hand butchering the buck and three rabbits he'd brought back.

"How are we going to feed them?" Kíli asked her. " _What_ are we going to feed them?"

"The same thing we eat, only a lot softer," she replied. "Basically the same thing a mother of my kind or yours would feed her wee ones when it's time to wean them from the breast. Certainly like any babe they'd be better off with their mama's milk, but mashed food will still help them grow."

"But what if it's not enough? What if, Mahal forbid, they die anyway? _Razâd_ , if I'd had any idea she was with pups I'd have just tried to scare her off."

Larkspur looked up at him. "Kíli, if for all our efforts they die anyway, then at least we'll know we gave it our best. And you shouldn't feel too guilty for shooting their mama—you have a family to feed too. We needed that deer meat. Now open your shirt and hold these babies against your skin to keep them warm. I've got to get started on their mother."

"What are you going to do with her?" Fíli asked.

Thorin found himself wondering the same thing, and looked up from the rabbit he was cleaning.

"It would be foolish to waste the meat and the pelt of the mother," Larkspur replied. "She'll not give us much of the former, but it'll still give us one good meal. Once I've taken everything useful, her remains will be buried with her babies."

It was solid reasoning, and Thorin silently praised Larkspur for her thinking.

"I didn't know you knew how to butcher an animal," Kíli observed as she worked.

Larkspur chuckled. "I might be a schoolteacher by trade, Master Kíli, but I've worked with animals plenty—how do you suppose I knew how to get the cubs out? In the Shire we give our little ones a two-month break from schooling over the summer, and I spend those eight weeks helping out on the Bolgers' farm. I've helped birth animals, butcher 'em, feed 'em… If I can't get a job as a teacher where we're going, perhaps I'll start a little farm of my own."

Those words gave Dwalin pause. "Why would you not get a job as a teacher?" he asked.

"They might have no openings for teachers," Larkspur pointed out. "Or maybe the dwarves there won't care for a hobbit teaching their children."

Thorin frowned. "I do not believe that would be the case," he said. "No dwarrow schoolmaster I know would turn away a good teacher, be they dwarf or not."

"But you don't know the schoolmasters down there," she countered.

"For that matter, we didn't even know there were dwarves living in the White Mountains," added Kíli.

"Not to mention," Larkspur went on, "we've no idea whether they'll be accepting of me as Dwalin's wife."

"Don't be daft, hobbit," Dwalin barked. "Of course they'll accept you. You are my One—no dwarf would willingly ignore the will of our Maker."

Larkspur let the matter drop, and so they all continued with their tasks. Soon all the animals had been butchered, their hides cleaned, the meat hung on racks over a second and third fire started by Fíli. The wolf's pelt Larkspur had said she was saving for the three pups, explaining that they would know instinctively that it had belonged to their mother and that her lingering scent would help keep them calm. She prepared their first meal and again sought Kíli's aid in helping feed them; the dwarf was surprised the pup he held was so eager for the almost runny vegetable-venison mash she had made.

For the company's dinner, Larkspur prepared the wolf's meat in a stew with some potatoes, celery, and carrots. She also prepared the truffles with the last of their cheese and some of the chicory leaves. For all his grumbling earlier about having to eat plants, Thorin could not deny that the lass had a way of making even green food palatable.

" _Kardûna_ , I shall never again complain about eating vegetables if it is your hand that prepares them," Dwalin said, echoing Thorin's own thoughts.

"Indeed, _Iraknana'_ ," he added. "The truffles are magnificent."

Larkspur grinned. Thorin knew she took much joy in being called "cousin" in Khuzdul. He also had no doubt that she was pleased to have her efforts at keeping them well fed praised.

"This stew is mighty good as well," Fíli said then. "Been a long time since I've had wolf—I'd forgotten how good it could taste."

"You're all quite welcome," the hobbit said, then stood and carried her bowls over to set them beside Kíli, whose turn it was to wash the dishes. She next checked on the wolf pups, who were making squealing noises from the blanket she'd laid them on.

"Oh, I don't think so, little one," she said as she moved a crawling cub back to the middle. "You stay with your brother and sister. I'll feed you again when I get back."

Straightening, she turned and started away from the campfire. "Larkspur, where are you going?" Dwalin asked.

"My dear, I do wish you'd relax and not ask me that every time I get up," she said, her tone exasperated. "A lady doesn't like everyone to know her business."

Fíli and Kíli both snickered as she turned and headed for the nearby woods. Thorin watched her go from the corner of his eye; Dwalin made no pretense of not following her every step with his own.

"She has a point," Thorin said casually. "You have made what she clearly believes is an annoying habit of asking her where she's going every time she walks away from camp."

Dwalin turned to him. "Thorin, we are out in the wilds. Night is falling. The lads found a bloody wolf in those woods today—Larkspur could get hurt!"

"A female wolf who was likely shunned from her pack, elsewise her mate or another wolf would have been doing the hunting. You know as well as I that pregnant females do not leave the den when they are close to giving birth," Thorin pointed out.

The warrior dwarf sputtered for a moment before saying, "I don't care! She is my wife and I do not wish her to come to harm!"

"I think you'll be the one coming to harm if you keep getting on her nerves," Fíli said. Dwalin glared at him but finished his food in silence, every so often darting his eyes back toward the trees.

"Dwalin!"

All four dwarves jumped to their feet immediately at Larkspur's cry, each of them reaching for the nearest of their weapons. The hobbit ran up to her husband and threw her arms around him.

"There's someone in the woods!" she said, her voice breathy from having run. "I heard voices—I think they're coming this way!"

"And you all thought I should not be so concerned!" Dwalin said with a growl, then kissed Larkspur's brow. "Get behind me, _Kardûna_."

"Better yet, hide yourself on the other side of the wagon," Thorin suggested as she was scooping up the wolf cubs.

Larkspur did as directed without question while they formed a line facing the trees. Dwalin had pulled Grasper and Keeper while he and Fíli had drawn their swords; Kíli had an arrow already nocked on his bow's string.

Soon they could hear the same voices Larkspur had, and see a light coming toward them. Thorin deduced there were three males of unknown species coming directly toward the camp, though they seemed to be in no hurry to get there. Moments later, the light within the trees flared brighter, becoming almost blinding, before it faded and they heard a voice each of them recognized at once.

"Good evening, Thorin. Fíli. Kíli. Dwalin. It's been quite some time since last I saw you—what is it, about four and a half years? And you haven't aged a day."

Thorin lowered his sword slowly. _Gandalf_.


	32. Chapter 32

**Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, SethadoreVGC, and readergirl4985—thank you so much for the kind words and excitement over Gandalf's appearance. I hope you all like who he's brought along with him. And a hearty thanks goes out to all my silent readers.**

* * *

 **32\. Purpose**

* * *

When Gandalf's two companions stepped up beside him, Dwalin growled and charged toward the dark-haired one on the wizard's left.

"Is this how your father keeps his word?!" he demanded, raising Grasper to point at the elf.

Before the fellow could respond Gandalf said, "Lord Elrond was not the one who told me of their presence. In fact, it was I who surprised him that I knew."

"Then explain that," Thorin said. "How is it you are not surprised to see us?"

Gandalf dismounted his horse. "First, I think we should invite your companion to come out of hiding. Then we can all sit together and speak as friends."

"I am friends with no elf," Dwalin snarled, before turning on his heel and marching toward the main campfire.

"Oh calm down, you big oaf," said the last person Gandalf expected to see as she came around the wagon carrying three whimpering pups.

"Larkspur Took, what the devil are you doing here?! Does your father know you are in the company of these dwarves?"

She scoffed. "Considering I am married to one of them, I'd say he does," she said, then set the pups down—wolves, if his eyes did not deceive—and busied herself with putting something in a pot over the fire.

A quick scan of the dwarves told Gandalf she was being truthful. "Is that so? To which of these fine gentlemen do I owe congratulations? Is it Fíli?"

Fíli and Kíli burst out laughing as Dwalin growled again from his place on a log near the main fire. Thorin said, "Gandalf, it would not be in your best interests to antagonize Dwalin until you have explained yourself."

"And perhaps not even then," said the golden-haired elf on Gandalf's right.

Thorin turned his gaze to the elf. "Very observant of you, whoever you are."

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Yes, of course, where are my manners? Thorin Oakenshield, may I introduce you to Lord Elrohir, son of Elrond—" He gestured to the brown-haired elf. "—and Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower."

Fíli's eyes widened as the two slid from the backs of their own horses. "He can't be!" he exclaimed. "Glorfindel fell in Gondolin."

Thorin's head snapped around to his nephew and then toward Glorfindel, then back to Fíli. "You know of this elf?"

The younger dwarf came forward, and Gandalf noted a spark of admiration in his eyes. "Don't you remember, Uncle? In our school years, when the Masters would speak of the elves, he was the only one ever regarded with respect—awe, even—for he succumbed to wounds acquired in battle after slaying one of Durin's Bane."

Glorfindel nodded his head. "And grievous wounds they were, young master. But Morgoth's minion was dead, and thus my death was honorable."

"But how can you be here?"

The elf chuckled. "How can one who has been reborn question the rebirth of another?" he countered.

"It was a balrog," Fíli said, as if that explained everything.

"Boys!" snapped Larkspur. "Everybody come sit down and have some tea, and Gandalf will tell us what he and his friends are doing here. Then you can talk of battles until dawn if you like."

Gandalf suppressed a smile. "Now I see why Dwalin chose this hobbit to wed," he mused softly.

"More to the point, she was chosen for him by Mahal," Thorin replied.

The wizard's brow rose in amazement as he fell into step beside his old friend. "Was she now? How delightful. Dwalin will have his hands full with this one, if he is not already aware."

The snort Thorin emitted then told him they were all quite well aware of Larkspur's dwarf-like tendencies already. That she had been chosen by Aulë to be a dwarf's bride no longer surprised him, nor did his choice for her when Gandalf considered it. Though wild in her own way, Larkspur's influence would do much to tame the fiery temper of Dwalin in years to come.

The three new arrivals sat across from the dwarves while the hobbit made quick work of handing each of them a cup of tea. For herself she took nothing, instead settling down between Kíli and Dwalin to care for the cubs.

"May I help you, madam?" asked Elrohir. "My wife has a connection with predators and she has taught my brother and I much about their care."

"I think Rámor has much to do with that," Glorfindel said with a grin.

"Do not speak of that beast," Elrohir said with a frown. "Four years we have been acquainted and still he acts as though she belongs to him."

"Well, the Lady Ranárë _has_ been in his care far longer than she has yours," observed Gandalf.

Elrohir scowled as Larkspur handed him a wolf cub and a small bowl and spoon. "Who are Rámor and Ranárë?" she asked.

The elf's expression softened. "Ranárë is my wife. My brother Elladan's as well—we are co-mates. Rámor is a…pain in my arse."

At her confused look, he chuckled and said, "He's a very large black cat, a panther. He and Peré, a falcon, have been Ranárë's companions for many years."

"Is that why you said she has a connection with predators?"

Elrohir nodded at her question. "Aye. Ranárë has the ability to commune with all animals, though her connection to predators is stronger. How did you come by these wolf cubs?"

"My brother and I were hunting," Kíli spoke up, setting his tea aside and taking one of the other two pups from Larkspur. "Their mother went after the deer we'd just killed, so I shot her with an arrow. We did not know until we approached her that she was carrying. Lark had to cut them from her womb."

"That is unfortunate, Master Dwarf, but at least some good came of it," said Elrohir. "You will have your hands quite full with these three, Madam Hobbit."

"Larkspur," she said.

Elrohir placed a hand over his heart. "Elrohir," he said with a nod.

"I'm Kíli, and that one's my brother Fíli," said the youngest dwarf, gesturing across the fire at his brother before returning his attention to the hungry pup in his arms.

"Thorin and Dwalin," said Thorin gruffly, gesturing to himself and his cousin. "Now that everyone knows who everyone is, perhaps we can get to the part where you explain how you knew about our return."

Gandalf, who'd been clearing his pipe, packed in a pinch of Old Toby and lit it, taking a good puff before he said, "I was visited in a dream by the High King of the Valar—I believe you're acquainted."

A grunt was Thorin's initial reply. "Aye, we've met."

"When he spoke to me, I saw images of Rivendell, which is why I journeyed there first to seek you. Elrohir and Glorfindel are here with me because…"

Here he paused, not wishing to either anger Thorin or embarrass himself by revealing the truth. He needn't have bothered trying to come up with a more viable excuse, for his reticence led to Glorfindel speaking up for him.

"Because Mithrandir, for all his wisdom, can blunder about just like anyone else," the golden-haired elf said with a grin. "Elrohir and I were in conference with Lord Elrond when he burst into the study saying 'Thorin Oakenshield is alive!'"

"I did not think him to be in the company of others, elsewise I'd have said nothing on first entrance," Gandalf was quick to assure them. "But the mistake was already made, and so Elrond and I had to explain the circumstances to them."

Dwalin snorted, his expression and posture clearly indicating he remained displeased. "That explains how they know, not why they are here. Didn't your wife have a child recently?" he said, directing his question to Elrohir.

The elf nodded. "She did. Elladan is the proud father of a beautiful girl. I came along with Mithrandir on his journey to give Dan and Ranárë time alone with her."

"And I am come because frankly I was curious," said Glorfindel. "Three of you are the only dwarves ever reborn, let alone returned to these shores. I desired to meet you."

"And you, Gandalf?" Thorin pressed. "So Manwë spoke to you in a dream… Why did you come looking for us?"

"Why do you think? Because he told me to!" Gandalf replied.

"But why?" Fíli asked.

"The full reason was not made clear, Master Fíli. I suspect, however, that I am to see to it you reach your destination."

Thorin shook his head as though annoyed. "More riddles," he muttered. "I grow weary of their use. Already I know that I am to go to the White Mountains—do the bloody Valar think I will not? What else have I to do, since Erebor is forsaken to me?"

"There are dwarves in the White Mountains, Master Thorin," said Glorfindel. "And you are heralded among your kin as a great leader, having brought them through many years of strife. Having won back Erebor has made you a legend."

"Your point?"

Glorfindel did not react to his sharp tone. "I returned to Middle-earth because I knew there was still much good I could do here. Perhaps the reason you and your nephews were returned is because there is still much good _you_ can do here. That you are to go to the White Mountains means that you will begin there."

"Being legends is of little use to us if we can't tell anyone who we are," Fíli put in.

Dwalin coughed then, and all eyes turned to him. "What?" he asked with a scowl.

Thorin studied him. "What is on your mind, _Iraknadad_?"

"Who says anything is?"

"I know you too well. That cough was too coincidentally timed."

Gandalf sat back and drew on his pipe as he watched the two stare at one another. Thorin was right, he mused. Something had certainly gotten Dwalin's attention.

Eventually the warrior sighed and said, "'Tis nothing. Just something Elrond said to me."

"What did he say?" Thorin asked.

Dwalin looked to him. "That considering where you intend to make your bed, with evil making its own next door, anonymity would not likely serve you long."

Thorin's gaze traveled between his nephews. "Perhaps, but I would have it serve us as long as it may." He looked into his cup as he added, "I'll not knowingly or willfully put their lives at risk again."

Fíli groaned. "Uncle, how many times must we tell you that it is our choice to face what risks may be ahead—or behind?"

"Fíli, I made your mother a promise once—a promise I did not keep. That failure is what led to her withering away in grief. On her deathbed I made her another. I made your _dying_ mother a promise, _Irakdashat_ , and this time I intend to keep it."

With that he stood and walked away toward the riverbank. Fíli stood to go after him and was stopped by Dwalin.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be," he said.

"Dwalin is right," agreed Gandalf. "Your uncle knows you are grown and that your destinies are your own. But guilt is a heavy burden to bear."

"He has nothing to feel guilty about," said Kíli. "What happened to us was by a choice of our own making. It's not like he forced us to join the quest."

Gandalf's expression was one of understanding. "Again, he knows this. But though he buries them more often than not, Thorin's emotions run as deep as a vein of mithril, and it will likely be years yet before he allows the burden of his guilt to fall from his shoulders."

"You must remember," said Dwalin, "that after your father passed, he helped your _amad_ raise you as though you were his own dwarflings. Always in that regard has he desired to keep you safe from harm."

"And always he will, as would any good father," said Elrohir in a soft voice. "My own has said that only when one becomes a parent do they truly understand there is no love greater than what you will feel for your child."

Fíli and Kíli looked to each other and then toward their uncle, both of them now wearing expressions of sympathy. Gandalf was glad they were beginning to understand what drove Thorin—that their safety came above all else—though it did not surprise him in the least when Kíli looked down at the wolf pup he held, the little gray thing now content with a full belly, and said,

"I love him for loving us, but I can't help wishing Bard's prediction would come true—that he'd meet some dam in Dwarrowvale and have little ones of his own someday, and stop fussing over us so much."

Dwalin barked out a laugh. "Thorin married? Oh, I'd like to see that."

 **-...-**

More than an hour had passed since Thorin had stalked away from the camp. Two lines of thought warred inside him in that time—embarrassment that he had allowed his emotions to get the best of him, even for a moment, and also a desire for Fíli and Kíli to just _understand_ why he desired to protect them so.

They were the closest he would ever come to having sons, and they were all he had left of his family.

He sat now on the riverbank watching the water flow by, its surface appearing to sparkle in the light of the moon and stars. His pipe was in his mouth but he'd run out of tobacco, so Thorin sat chewing the end as he fought to settle himself enough to rejoin the others. He tensed when he heard footsteps approaching—too light were they to be those of Dwalin or one of his nephews, which left only Larkspur, Gandalf, or—Mahal forbid—one of the elves.

Even as Glorfindel sat beside him, Thorin wondered why they were really here. So they'd inadvertently learned the secret, so what? While it was annoying that he now had to trust two more elves with the truth for the sake of his nephews (oh, how that stuck in his craw), it did not explain why they had accompanied Gandalf on his search for them.

He had just opened his mouth to ask when the golden-haired elf shocked him by lifting a pipe to his mouth and clamping it between his teeth. He blinked, stunned into silence for a full minute before he managed, "I didn't think elves smoked."

Glorfindel looked at him sidelong. "Most don't," he said. "I just like to chew on it when I'm thinking."

Thorin could only nod at that, then looked back toward the river. "Dare I ask what you are thinking about?" he found himself asking a moment later.

He was surprised again by the elf's answer. "I find myself trying to figure out how I might help you."

"Help me do what?" he queried with a snort.

"Find your purpose."

Again, Thorin stared at the fellow in surprise, though he also could not help the thread of suspicion winding its way along his nerves. Why would this elf who did not know him want to help him?

He posed the question to his companion, who replied, "I don't have to know you to want to help you, though I would certainly not mind getting to know you and your nephews. Like Lord Elrond and Gandalf, I suspect there is some grand reason Ilúvatar saw fit to give in to the pleas of Aulë to return you. There must be some great work he needs you to do here."

Thorin gave a ragged sigh as he tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. "I wish I knew what that was," he said. "I wish I had some other bloody clue as to what the _razâd_ I came back for, something more sensible than 'look for your destiny where the peaks are always white.'"

That he had spoken his concern to an elf gave Thorin a start. And then he remembered that four had already aided him since his rebirth—first Tauriel, then Ellairë, Gildan, and Elrond. Two of those had addressed his prejudice against their kind, and none had hesitated to do their part. Here was another, come of his own free will, now saying he wanted to help.

Not all elves were so generous, he noted sourly. Those that were seemed a minority.

"I have no fondness for elves," he said.

"Of this I am aware," Glorfindel replied. "But you didn't tell us to get lost, so that's something."

He had to quash the urge to laugh. "Your kind have their uses, I suppose," Thorin told him. "We'll be traveling through southern Dunland in the next few weeks. Though I hardly think we are in need of protection, should all you do be to see us safely to the White Mountains… I would be grateful."

"So long as your nephews get there safe."

"Aye, so long as they get there safe."

Thorin could feel the elf now studying him, and resisted the sudden inclination to fidget. He refused to give this fellow the satisfaction of knowing he was beginning to get under his skin—simply acknowledging that to himself was already mortifying. Elves had managed to annoy and even anger him before—Thranduil especially—but not one had managed to make him uneasy under their scrutiny.

Until now.

"You'll have to let them go one of these days."

Thorin turned sharply to Glorfindel at his words. The elf's gaze was on the river as he continued. "I understand why you are so driven to see them safely to your destination, why I am sure you hope to see them flourish there. But Fíli and Kíli are their own persons. They make their own choices. And they do not blame you for their circumstances."

He looked down to his hands. "Their mother blamed me," he said. "And she was right to."

"Did you kill them?"

"Of course not!" Thorin said hotly.

Glorfindel regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Then why do you hold yourself responsible for their deaths? If it was not you who dealt the killing blow, how is it your fault that two grown dwarves fell in battle? Is it not the nature of war to deal out death? Even the mightiest can be brought down—look at you and me, for example. Both of us leaders of our houses, both of us hailed as great warriors. You and I both battled our greatest foes and defeated them, but we were forced to give up our lives in the doing."

Drawing a breath, the elf said, "You cannot be with them every moment, cannot claim responsibility for every choice _they_ make. Thorin, you are near two hundred years old. Even if you live out the rest of your life naturally this go 'round, Fíli and Kíli will long outlive you."

Thorin scowled into the night. It burned in his gut to have to admit the elf was right about that—he would not be with his nephews forever.

His companion then pushed himself to his feet, reminding Thorin how annoyingly tall he was. "You went on a quest to take back your homeland for your people. You've since given up that home and are now on another quest, this time to seek out the new destiny your Maker and Ilúvatar have laid out for you. Perhaps you ought consider that one of the things you are meant to do in your second life is focus on _you_ for once."

Long after Glorfindel had walked away Thorin remained at the side of the river, his gaze shifting between the flow of the water before him and the light of the stars above him…wondering if he was right.


	33. Chapter 33

**Many thanks, as always, to my beloved reviewers: ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, readergirl4985, Celebrisilweth, AranelMereneth, Aashi, and Jenna. I also thank each and every person reading along in silence!**

 **Note that FFN is apparently having some kind of glitch with the review system - I'm getting email notices but they're not showing up on the reviews list, so I've had to go a roundabout way to respond to those of you who signed in. If I missed someone I am sorry, hopefully I'll catch you up whenever the site gets around to getting all the recent reviews posted.**

 **Aashi - Thank you so much! One of the things I'm trying really hard to do is bring more depth to these characters, and their emotions have a lot to do with that.**

 **Jenna - I am quite chuffed by your words. There are a large number of "OC joins the quest" stories out there, and some of them are exceptional. But that wasn't the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to do something unique and I'm glad I'm pulling it off!**

 **AranelMereneth - You know what? You're right. Kíli and Fíli probably should just walk up to Thorin and give him a big ol' bear hug. :)**

 **TOWG, you are the inspiration for an exchange in this chapter. I think you'll recognize your influence - after all, you were right!**

* * *

 **33\. Much to Consider**

* * *

Larkspur took to the presence of the elves as a duck to water.

That she had been hoping the last four years to meet some certainly helped, and much to Dwalin's dismay she was content to speak with Glorfindel and Elrohir for hours about their home in Rivendell or the history and culture of their people. Though they tried to hide it, Kíli and Fíli were very much interested in their stories.

Elrohir delighted both Larkspur and Kíli the first morning after his arrival with Gandalf by devising a simpler method of feeding the wolf pups. He fashioned false teets out of a piece of leather and attached them to three small water skins, and the pups took to them instantly—it was certainly less messy than trying to feed them with a spoon.

One evening, when Thorin had called a halt to camp for the night, Fíli had been admiring Glorfindel's sword when he jokingly suggested they might spar. The young dwarf had perhaps not expected the ancient elf to accept his challenge, but he did not back down when Glorfindel stood and bowed his head before moving several feet away from the fire. Fíli had grinned and met him there, and it soon became a nightly event. Kíli and Elrohir would often join in, or the two brothers would take on one of the elves together.

It was on such an evening, as Thorin, Dwalin, Larkspur, Gandalf, and Glorfindel watched Elrohir dancing between Kíli's and Fíli's attacks, that Glorfindel was heard to say, "Every night I thank the Valar for Ranárë."

"Yes, the lady is a most lovely creature," Gandalf agreed. "Elladan and Elrohir are very lucky to have found her."

Glorfindel chuckled. "You misunderstand me, Mithrandir. My thanks are two-fold. On the one hand, I am most grateful she has brought them out of their shell. They were so very serious before they met her."

"I recall Bilbo saying something to the effect that the twins were much like Fíli and Kíli, except more serious," Larkspur put in.

"And that they are, _mellon nín_ ," Glorfindel replied with a nod. "But it was a much different kind of serious for a very long time. I know of few who hate orcs as much as they."

"I know orcs are bad," said Larkspur, "but why do they hate them so passionately?"

Glorfindel glanced briefly at Elrohir to find him laughing and trading good-natured insults with each swing of his blade. Fíli and Kíli were giving as good as they got, in both verbal barbs and swordsmanship.

To Larkspur he said, "Their mother, the Lady Celebrían, and a party of guards were waylaid by orcs on the Redhorn Pass as they traveled to Lothlórien for the lady to visit with her parents. The guards were killed and Celebrían taken hostage. The twins went in search of her as soon as word reached them in Imladris, but it was some time before they found her. Lord Elrond healed her physical wounds but was unable to restore her spirit, which was much troubled by the various forms of torture she had endured. She sailed to Undying Lands a year later, and for over four hundred years did they carry the guilt of taking so long to rescue her."

"But it wasn't their fault!" the hobbit protested.

Here Glorfindel's eyes flicked to Thorin, who was studiously turned to watch the sparring of his nephews but was no doubt hearing every word. "No, it was not, for every once in a while an orc is born that is cleverer than the rest, and the ringleader of this band had hidden her well. Prior to their mother's capture, Elladan and Elrohir were serious when necessary, but were possessed of a youthful exuberance I have not seen in another pair of brothers until now, in Kíli and Fíli.

"In their own youth, the twins were happy little tricksters. Except the times they were out with the Rangers of the North, when maturity was required at all times, they could be found planning some prank on unsuspecting residents of Imladris. I was often a target of their games of merriment. As aggravating as that behavior could be, they had such a vibrant spirit in those days. What happened to the Lady Celebrían changed that in the space of a heartbeat. There were no more pranks, no more youthful laughter."

He paused for a breath, then looked to the sad-faced hobbit with a smile. "Then four years ago, their lives were changed again by another great lady. The twins and a party of Rangers were escorting the Lady Gilraen and her son back to Rivendell from a village near Fornost, where the lady's mother lives. They encountered Ranárë battling a band of orcs all on her own, and though she is a mighty warrior in her own right, she was being overwhelmed. The twins and the Rangers came to her aid, took her back to Imladris with them for healing, and as they came to know her they came to love her."

"I'm most curious about that," Larkspur said as she snuggled the wolf pups. "Hobbits don't do co-mating—'tis one male and one female to wed among my people. I don't think I could handle more than one husband. One's a bloody handful as it is!"

"Oi," grumbled Dwalin. "I know me a hobbit lass who qualifies the same."

She looked up at him. "Would you have me any other way, my love?"

Dwalin's stern expression fell to a smile and he reached out to caress her cheek. "Not for all the gold in Erebor."

Glorfindel smiled. "Co-mating is not a normal practice among elves, either," he said. "In fact, theirs is probably the first arrangement of its kind. But there is none among my people who would argue against it, for anyone who knows Dan and Ro would agree that though they are each their own person, they are so much alike they may as well not be. None were surprised when they both fell in love with Ranárë, though there was some surprise when she admitted she loved them both equally—probably because no elf has loved more than one person in that way."

"But you forget, my friend, that the Lady Ranárë is no elf," Gandalf said then.

"Indeed, she is not."

"If she is no elf, then what is she?" asked Dwalin. "Bronwë told me that she may have needed two mates to equal her for power."

Glorfindel tilted his head in thought. "Yes, I can see what makes her think so," he said. "Ranárë is of the Maiar and the Valar, Master Dwarf. A one-of-a-kind being, and perhaps the greatest power in these lands if she ever chose to exercise her full potential."

He looked again to the sparring match some distance away. "Ranárë's love has brought light to fight the darkness that once consumed them. They do not play their practical jokes anymore, but they're not above having fun as they had been for the last four centuries."

A chuckle sounded from Gandalf. "Now I see what you meant by your thanks is two-fold, Lord Glorfindel," he said. "Had Ranárë not in March borne Elladan's daughter, he might well have come along with us. Then there would be four of them."

Glorfindel laughed. "Indeed, Mithrandir. I have no doubt that the twins might well be inclined to engage in their old trickery were they both to be around Fíli and Kíli at the same time."

At last Thorin turned to join the conversation with, "If that is true, perhaps I will add an extra prayer of thanks to Mahal—we do _not_ need the same behavior reborn in my nephews."

"No indeed!" agreed Dwalin. "The stunts those two rascals would pull!"

Once more the golden-haired elf's gaze was drawn to the young dwarves and their Elven opponent. "Elladan and Elrohir against Fíli and Kíli… I dread to imagine the prank war that would ensue."

"Or worse yet, that they should join together!" said Gandalf, which lent a shudder to the elf's shoulders.

 **-...-**

Although Thorin and Dwalin tolerated the presence of the elves as their journey continued, it was not until the group had been together two weeks that anything like genuine warmth developed between them.

They were halfway through the southlands of Dunland when they were set upon by bandits. Whether they were Edain or Dunlendings was not clear at first; the males of the party knew only that they needed to dispatch them quickly. Larkspur was directed to hide under the wagon while the fight was engaged, and she crawled there as fast as she could with the largest of their baskets, which held the wolf pups.

She bent over the basket to keep the two-week-old pups, just starting to really toddle about, from popping out and getting under foot. Her hands were over her head and ears and her eyes were squeezed shut, for she had no desire to see or hear anything she did not need to. Adventurous she might have been in spirit, but fighting was something she would leave to the males.

Or so she thought, until out of nowhere she felt a hand clamp around her ankle. Larkspur screamed as the dirty-faced man gave a leering grin and started to drag her toward him. She tried kicking with her free leg—she had big feet, after all—but this only made him laugh and grab it in his other hand. She screamed again, calling out her husband's name, begging for him to come to her. She heard her name in response and a roar of rage, but that did not stop her attacker, whose hands were now around her knees.

"Pretty little lady," he said, his spittle wetting her calves. Larkspur felt tears falling from her eyes and closed them, her fear causing her heart to beat wildly beneath her breast. She had lost her grip on the basket and could hear the puppies barking.

Then suddenly the hold around her legs was loosened, a sickening gurgle issuing from the throat of her attacker before his head fell from his shoulders, his blood spurting bright and red in a fountain that splashed across her legs and feet. Larkspur opened her eyes to see that Glorfindel had managed to reach her; he kicked the body away and dropped into a squat.

"It's all right now, my lady. I'll stay with you," he said.

She barely acknowledged with a blubbering nod before scrambling back under the wagon. Glorfindel stood by it as he had said he would, and before she knew it, the fight was over and Dwalin had his arms around her. Larkspur cried freely into his shoulder as he rocked her gently, stroking her hair and murmuring shushing noises into her ear.

"I have you now, _Kardûna_ ," he said. "You are safe."

He looked up then to Glorfindel, who stood nearby. "Thank you," he told him, his voice rough with emotion. For the first time, the giving of gratitude to an elf was not in the least difficult for him.

Glorfindel bowed his head. "No thanks are necessary, Master Dwalin."

No more words were needed, for the depth of his gratitude shone clear in his eyes. The elf stayed near as Dwalin consoled his frightened wife and the others piled the bandits' bodies to be burned.

Later that evening when they had stopped to make camp, Dwalin was quick to raise the tent and tuck Larkspur inside, where he stayed with her and the wolf pups. Fíli was given the task of making dinner, and Glorfindel was approached by Thorin.

"I want to thank you for what you did for my cousin today," he said as he took a seat beside him.

Glorfindel looked over. "As I said to Dwalin, thanks are not necessary."

"They are offered regardless," said the dwarf as he glanced toward the closed tent. "I do not know if you understand the depth of connection between them. If anything were to happen to Larkspur, Dwalin would likely go mad. Not just due to grief, but for having lost the part of himself he had not known he was missing until he met her."

The elf raised his eyebrows. "She is his One?"

Thorin nodded, though some confusion shone in his eyes. "You know of Mahal's choosing each dwarrow's perfect mate?"

Glorfindel nodded. "I lived a great many years before my death, my Lord Thorin, and I have lived through the end of one Age and the birth of another since my return. Much have I learned of all the species of Middle-earth, including your kin."

He regarded him then with one eyebrow raised. "It would surprise you, I think, to learn we are not so much different, elves and dwarves. My people also mate for life, and in the joining of our bodies with our mates, our souls become intertwined. To lose a mate to death has been known to lead an elf to madness. Some have also been so aggrieved they simply chose to stop living."

Thorin looked toward the fire. "I have heard of this. Gildan, a healer in Dale, spoke of an elf maid called Lúthien, who died in grief over the loss of her mortal mate. And Tauriel, who is Queen in Dale, also said to me that elves and dwarves are not entirely different as both mate for life."

"I do not know those elves personally, but I have heard of them," Glorfindel said. "They spoke the truth."

The dwarf swallowed. "I told you once I have no fondness for elves. It is a deeply rooted hatred, one that I thought never to weaken."

A mirthless laugh sounded as he shook his head. "I've been wrong about so many things, who would have guessed that might be one of them? Do not misunderstand me—I'll not likely be embracing an elf as a brother in the near future. I am not likely to trust one of your kind without being given some great reason to do so. Until recently, no elf I have met had been worth trusting. But those I have met since my rebirth have certainly given me much to consider."

Glorfindel smiled. "At least you are considering what we have told you. And for all I know of dwarves, I cannot say that I can call one friend. I'd like that to change."

Thorin looked at him then. Studied him. And then he held out a hand as he said, "I think I would like that as well."

 **-...-**

The morning after the bandits' attack, Dwalin and Larkspur had their first fight.

As packing for the day's march began, she turned to him and said, "Tonight after dinner, I want you to teach me to fight."

Dwalin froze in mid-motion, then turned his head slowly to look at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not asking for full warrior training," Larkspur said. "Just a little self defense. Teach me to use a knife or a short sword."

"Absolutely not," Dwalin said with a snort as he turned resolutely back to loading the tent into the wagon.

Larkspur fisted her hands on her hips. "Whyever not? You all expected Bilbo to handle himself on your quest. And aren't dwarf females taught at least basic fighting skills? I'd at least like to be able to stab a bugger in the eye next time I have to hide under the wagon."

"Larkspur, you have no need to learn to fight, not when there are more than enough of us to protect you," he argued. " _I_ will protect you."

"I don't doubt that in the least, my dear, but that does not negate the fact that it would be a good idea for me to learn."

Dwalin growled softly, then turned away from her and said, "Thorin, will you reason with her, please?"

Thorin secured his pony's saddle before he responded. "Dwalin, do not think to involve me in your marital dispute. This matter is between you and Larkspur."

"It is not an unreasonable request, Dwalin," Larkspur pressed.

" _Kardûna_ , I will not have your innocence stolen by your learning to practice violence," Dwalin declared.

Her face hardened into a scowl. "My innocence has already been stolen, as yesterday I was witness to violence first hand—or did you think I had forgotten that Glorfindel spilled that man's blood all over me when he took his head? Kíli!"

"Yes?" the young dwarrow yelped as he spun to face the angry hobbit now stalking toward him.

"Will you ride with me in the wagon today? I think I need a change of pace."

Kíli nodded and complied in silence, first helping Larkspur into the seat and then climbing up beside her. Although the ponies had been switched out each day, it was always Dwalin that had sat beside his wife to drive the wagon. Larkspur had made it abundantly clear she did not want him beside her today.

An hour or so after the group had set out, Thorin drew up next to the glowering Dwalin. "You asked for my opinion earlier," he said in a low voice. "Would you still care to hear it?"

"I would rather have heard it when it might have done me some good," Dwalin muttered.

"As I am in agreement with your wife, I do not know what good it would have done you."

"Thorin, you cannot be serious! She is just—"

"A female?" Thorin interrupted him. "That is hardly an excuse not to teach her basic self-defense. As Larkspur pointed out, our own females are taught to use weapons."

"She's not a dwarf, she's a hobbit!" Dwalin snapped.

"So was Bilbo." Thorin cocked his head to the side and studied him. "What is really bothering you, _Iraknadad_?"

Dwalin groaned through clenched teeth as he dragged a hand over his face. "It wasn't me," he said after a moment. "She is my wife, but it was not I who saved her—it was a sodding elf! I… I failed her, Thorin. She needs to know I can protect her."

"Larkspur does know," Thorin countered. "So the elf got to her before you could, that is no fault of yours. What does it matter who saved her so long as she was saved? That she was physically unharmed should be what is most important—your focus now should be on restoring her sense of safety and not soothing your bruised ego. If learning a few defensive techniques is what will achieve that, then you'd bloody well better do it. For the sake of your happiness and hers, you must do what is necessary even if it is not a choice you would make."

He sighed then and reached across the space between them to clap Dwalin on the shoulder. "And consider this, _bahûnê_ —if you do not teach her, someone else will."

And so it was that Larkspur began spending an hour after each evening meal learning to fight. Dwalin had reluctantly borrowed a short sword from Elrohir as all the dwarves' weapons were too heavy for her. She had some trouble with not swinging it like a club, and so it was suggested by Glorfindel that she be taught to use a staff. He was quick to fashion one from a thin log they were carrying to use as fire wood, and the moment it was in her hands, Larkspur said it felt just right. As none of her Dwarven kin were versed in the use of a staff, it was Gandalf who became her instructor, as he often used his "walking stick" as a weapon. She picked up staff fighting quite easily, much to her surprise, and seeing her so enthusiastic and excited for her lessons eased much of Dwalin's tension over her learning to fight in the first place.

* * *

 **I know, this one's a fair amount of filler, but I'm thinking they'll be reaching the White Mountains in the next chapter so it'll be worth it!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Humongoid giant thanks to all my reviewers for chapter 33: ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, SethadoreVGC, readpink, Emina, and Aashi. Y'all have to know that reviews absolutely make my day. I love hearing what people think. Thanks also to jewelofthedawn for clicking the favorite and follow buttons!**

 **Aashi - When a writer on this site, or any writer really, says a chapter is "filler" it means they're just passing the time, so to speak, with little events and conversations that don't necessarily impact the larger story. It's basically stuff that could have been left out, but was added because readers might like to know some of the things the characters had been up to on their journey.**

 **Emina - You honor me just by reading my story. That you enjoy it and are pleased with Bronwë's cameos, that those little bits have made you think of Daniella fondly, is humbling. Because Daniella had plans on her character being something of a key player in this alternate universe I created, she will pop up again a number of times - I had used her in another story with permission and continue to feature her in homage to her creator, whom I still consider a dear friend. I look forward to the day Elise is able to send me the scenes featuring Bronwë that your sister had finished, that I may share her creation in Daniella's own words.**

* * *

 **34\. The Curve is Shifting Fast**

"I am on the cusp of change, and the curve is shifting fast."

~ Audre Lorde

* * *

Over the weeks of travel, the wolf pups that Larkspur had saved prospered.

There were two males and one female, and at two weeks of age—when they began to toddle about on unsteady legs—each one began to develop distinct personalities. At around eight weeks, when their caregivers began to wean them off of pureed meat and vegetables, they made it known which of the small company was their favorite person, something Elrohir explained was natural when a pack animal was raised amongst people.

The gray male that Kíli most often fed, whose fur was white on his belly, soon became the young dwarf's second shadow. At night when they camped, the gray would follow him wherever he went, even when he went to relieve himself. He also tried to "help" during the sparring sessions, until his tail got stepped on and he learned that pain was unpleasant. After that he and the other two either watched from the main campsite or would run circles around the combatants. Whenever Kíli laughed, the gray would chortle a puppy laugh right along with him, and whenever he was in one of his down moods, the pup was content to lay beside him with his head on Kíli's foot.

When it became clear that he had been claimed by the pup, Kíli gave him the name Thafar, which was simply the word for "gray" in Khuzdul.

The second male had a white coat and, quite naturally, attached himself to Larkspur. As he grew Dwalin became concerned that his rambunctiousness would lead to injury, but the pup soon made it clear he somehow knew that she was not to be played with as roughly as his siblings or the others in the company. Of his surrogate mother he became rather protective, and only for her would he flop on his back for belly scratches. At other times he would bump her hand with his head to be scratched around his ears. And when Larkspur would favor the group with a song—often joined by the others, much to her delight—the pup would softly howl along.

Thus he was dubbed Asrân, which was Khuzdul for "ballad."

The lone female of the three wolf pups was black, and unlike her brothers—whose eyes changed color at around six weeks to a vibrant yellow—retained the blue-colored irises she was born with. The elves and Gandalf explained that this was unnatural for wolves, the animals more often having yellow, green, or even orange eyes in maturity. This made her somewhat special in the minds of Fíli, Kíli, and Larkspur—they believed she was meant to be an honorary Durin—and for a reason they could not determine, she took a little more time than her siblings to decide which of them she favored. Elrohir had been the one to feed her most often, but Fíli had taken a shine to her and played with her a lot. She'd also developed an interest in Thorin, who paid little attention to any of the wolves. The others secretly believed this was precisely why the black found him so fascinating. They had noticed that whenever she was still, her eyes were on their leader, watching his every move.

One night, when the stick Fíli had thrown for her went off course and landed by his uncle, the elder dwarrow picked it up and threw it back absently before the black pup could retrieve it. She jumped and caught it in mid-air, and though Fíli called to her to bring it back to him, she trotted over to Thorin and dropped it by his boot. She then sat on her haunches, her head tilted expectantly, and waited for him to pick it up. Thorin stared at her in challenge, before his stern visage broke into a smile and he did what she wanted; the game continued for several minutes before the pup tired and returned at last to Larkspur to lay by her brother. When Dwalin teased him about it, Thorin said she had reminded him of the way Lucanío had looked at him and waited for him to introduce himself. Later, when the dwarves had bedded down for the night, the pup broke away from Larkspur's grasp and crawled on her belly over to Thorin, nosed her head under his hand, and with a sigh settled down to sleep.

Thereafter she was constantly beside him, and always with him did she sleep. When Thorin broke down and gave her a name, he called her Bahûna. Fíli and Elrohir both lamented their disappointment that she had not chosen them, the elf being more vocal as he had been hoping the wolf would join him in antagonizing his wife's panther friend.

"Oh stop it," Glorfindel had said. "You love that cat and you know it."

Elrohir refused to reply, instead turning his attention to sharpening his sword.

 **-...-**

As soon as the first peaks of the White Mountains had come into view, Thorin grew anxious. He did his best to keep his growing agitation from the others, but though they made no mention of it they were not blind. After all, they knew that this was where Mahal had told him to go, that he wondered what he would find there.

Much to the dwarves' relief, they were well-received each place they stopped as they traveled through Rohan. There were some who held an ingrained distrust of their kind, but for the most part the people were friendly. Some were more wary of the three wolves than the dwarves, even though Asrân, Thafar, and Bahûna were far too young to be truly dangerous to anyone.

Some trade was done as they traveled through the realm of the horse-lords. One man in the Westfold was a breeder of ponies rather than horses. When asked why, he said it was because they were more suited to small farms and children than full-sized equines. And when Dwalin noticed Larkspur had taken a particular interest in a tan pony with a wheat-colored mane and tail, he purchased it for her. The man also pointed out what they had begun to suspect of the two mares ridden by Fíli in Kíli—that they were pregnant and would foal early the next year.

Information was another commodity, one the group was especially willing to pay for. A casual inquiry by Thorin in Edoras led to their learning that dwarves from Dwarrowvale sometimes came into Rohan to trade in furs, ponies, jewelry, and weapons. These dwarves were said to always be fair on the price of their wares and that the quality was magnificent. They also learned—much to the relief of Larkspur—that there were some who had married sons and daughters of men, though the innkeeper who spoke of it could not say for certain if it was a regular practice or a rare one. Still, the hobbit felt her worry over whether or not she would be accepted lighten, and she began to look forward to meeting the people of her new home. Her only remaining concern was whether or not she would be able to acquire work as a teacher.

The party stayed in Edoras near a week to rest their ponies, their own weary bodies, and acquire more provisions. Their last night in the country's capital found Thorin out on one of the guard towers, looking toward the mountains. He was joined not long after by Gandalf, and both smoked their pipes in contemplative silence for some time.

"Your new destiny is now right before you," the wizard said at last.

"Aye," said Thorin. "It is so close now that it is almost tangible."

He turned then to the tall, gray-robed figure beside him, sparing only a glance for the guards who'd granted them permission to be there. "Do you know anything you have not yet told me? You said Manwë spoke to you in a dream. Surely he said more to you than that you were to find me."

"Thorin, I assure you—everything I know I have told you," Gandalf replied. "I regret as much as you that it amounts to almost nothing at all." He cocked his head to the side. "What is it you are afraid of?"

Thorin scoffed as he looked back toward the mountains not far away. "I am not afraid of anything," he said, before forcefully clamping his pipe between his teeth.

He sensed Gandalf still eying him critically, to the point he loosed an aggravated sigh and said, "I've no idea what awaits me in Dwarrowvale. I do not know what I am supposed to do there. It is…unnerving to know so little about what lies ahead."

"There are few now in this world who can see the future, my friend, and even those cannot see all ends," Gandalf told him.

"While I am grateful that my Maker gave me a direction, I wish he had also given me some clue as to what my purpose here is to be," Thorin groused. "In my former life I knew what my purpose was: Keep my people alive. Ensure that they prospered. One day, I knew, I would reclaim Erebor."

"And you did that, Thorin—all of it."

"Aye, but to what end?" the dwarf countered. "I gave up my life that my people might live, because I knew that _khazr_ beast Azog would not be satisfied with only my life or that of my nephews. I chose to come back here when the chance was put before me even though I knew I would have to forsake my kingship in the doing. But what did I come back _for_ , Gandalf? Some unknown future that may or may not be to my liking?"

"Perhaps you came back because somewhere in your subconscious mind, you just wanted to _live_ ," Gandalf replied. "Whether it be in prosperity or hardship—or both—you want a life that is your _own_."

"My life before was my own."

The wizard shook his head. "Not really, Thorin, and I believe you know that. Your life before was dedicated to your kin. You did not live for yourself, you lived for them."

Thorin was reminded then of something Glorfindel had told him some weeks before—that perhaps he was supposed to focus on himself. He knew that had been his concern all along, having only himself to be truly responsible for. It was likely another reason why he had directed his focus onto ensuring Fíli and Kíli were safe, because just living for himself was something he'd never been allowed to do. Duty to his family and his people had always come first.

"You have worried, I don't doubt, about what your purpose is almost from the moment you awoke in this new life," Gandalf mused. "Let it go, Thorin. This pent-up anxiety of yours is only going to steal away whatever joy you may yet find, or at the least blind you to it."

"Are you really telling me to just relax and enjoy myself?" Thorin countered, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe. "Well, I… Actually it's… Why yes, I suppose I am."

"I've never done that before. I'm not even sure I know how," Thorin replied.

Mortification that he had admitted that vulnerability clamped around his chest then, and Thorin resolutely turned his eyes back toward the mountains, his pipe between his teeth. Beside him, Gandalf chuckled softly before laying a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, the knowing will come to you in time. You just have to be open to receiving it."

 **-...-**

As the company continued on from Edoras, they walked close to the foothills of the mountains. Thorin had directed everyone to be on the lookout for possible paths through them, as they had been told many times that there weren't any; he was hoping to avoid having to prolong the journey by walking all the way around the chain through the majority of Gondor. Gandalf confided that there was indeed at least one path, accessible through the caves behind the fortress of Helm's Deep, but that the cave system there was fiercely guarded by the Rohirrim and that it was only ever used in emergencies during times of war.

"Besides, even if we were to be granted passage, it would not really bring us any closer to our destination," he said.

And so they went on, keeping the mountains to their right. Thorin found it maddening that the foothills were so clustered together, and he wondered how trade with the dwarves in Dwarrowvale was profitable when they had to travel so far just to peddle their wares.

The greater part of their journey had been uneventful, with the exception of a few skirmishes as they crossed through Dunland and the Gap of Rohan, where wildmen often raided the Rohirrim villages. For that all of them were grateful, but knowing from tales they'd been told that orcs and goblins roamed as freely in the White Mountains as they did in chains to the north, the dwarves, elves, and wizard kept an ever watchful eye out for trouble as well as a shortcut.

Of course, as was wont to happen, even their good fortune eventually ran out.

The night began like so many before it. Once the sky was fully dark, Thorin called for a halt and camp was soon set up. Larkspur busied herself with making dinner while Dwalin put up the tent for them. Fíli and Kíli tended the ponies and Elrohir the three horses, while Glorfindel, Gandalf, and Thorin stood a relaxed guard. The evening passed companionably—Elrohir even managed to get Dwalin to laugh as he gave a particularly humorous account of one of the pranks he and his twin had pulled on an unsuspecting Glorfindel.

"I'm still plotting my revenge for that one, _mellon nín_ ," the golden-haired elf retorted at the end of the story. "It was four years before my hair grew back to a proper length."

"Oh come now, Del—it was six hundred years ago. Can you truly still be holding a grudge?" Elrohir asked between laughs.

Glorfindel fixed him with a rigid stare. "You forget, boy, how long I have lived in both of my lifetimes. An elf's capability for holding a grudge is as long as his life, and given we are immortal… Six centuries is but a drop in the bucket."

Intermittent bouts of laughter continued as they began to settle in for the night. The two elves, having almost no need of sleep, stood watch as they had since joining the company. Their eyesight was keen even in the dark of night, though it was Bahûna who first alerted them to approaching trouble. The black wolf pup stood suddenly from her place next to Thorin, her ears and nose twitching. A soft growl began to emanate from her throat which drew the attention of not only the elves but her brother as well. Thafar raised his head from Kíli's arm, looked at her, and then as he turned his head toward the mountains he, too, began to growl.

"Wake them," Glorfindel commanded, to which Elrohir immediately complied. He bent first to Fíli and then Kíli as Thafar moved toward the edge of the circle of light cast by the fire. Bahûna snapped off a bark, which immediately woke Thorin and Gandalf, before she trotted over to the tent where Dwalin and Larkspur were sleeping. She poked her head in, barked once, and then retreated. Asrân soon followed, as did Dwalin and Larkspur. The two wolves joined their brother, the growls of all three becoming deeper.

"What's going on?" grumbled Dwalin.

"The wolves sense something," Elrohir said.

"You've better eyesight than they, can't you see anything?" Kíli asked as he attempted to calm Thafar.

"Not as yet," Glorfindel answered. "It must be something they smell that we cannot—in that regard they are superior to all of us."

"Even so young as they are? They'll not be three months for another two weeks," Larkspur put in. "You said they'd not even learn to hunt in the wild until they were half a year."

"Aye, madam, but even at a young age, their sense of smell is acute. There must be something especially fell in the air."

Soon they were all on their feet and facing the hills, and only a few minutes had passed before Elrohir and Glorfindel looked to one another.

"Do you hear that?" asked the younger elf.

"Aye, I do," the elder replied.

"Hear what?" demanded Thorin.

Glorfindel looked to him. "Orcs, Master Thorin." He cocked an ear toward the mountains. "A fair-sized pack of them—around thirty, if my estimation is correct. You should be hearing them soon."

"They were likely drawn by our fire," observed Gandalf. "They will think us easy pickings."

"They think wrong," Fíli said as he drew his twin swords.

"Larkspur," began Dwalin, but she held up a hand to interrupt him.

"I know, I know. Duck under the wagon as soon as the first one appears," she said. "Asrân, Thafar, Bahûna—come!"

The wolves ran immediately to her side. Knowing what a hindrance they might be once they were moving about on their own if the company met trouble, Gandalf had spoken a simple spell over the pups that he said would ensure they did as told by their masters. As Larkspur was, for all intents and purposes, their mother, she alone could command all three.

A shout in Black Speech alerted the party of the orcs' impending arrival, and almost before they knew what was happening, the fight was on.

 **-...-**

"Look there, Árni—at that group of travelers."

Árni leaned over the parapet and looked to where his fellow soldier pointed. "What of them?" he asked.

His companion turned to him. "Did you not notice that five of them are rather short of stature? They could be dwarves."

"So what if they are dwarves?" said another of the guards. "It's not as if you've never seen one before."

Light laughter followed the statement.

"Don't listen to them, Hakon," said another, the voice silencing all. "It's certainly interesting if they are dwarrow, considering they travel with what looks to be a couple of elves."

"How can you tell, Prin—General?" Hakon asked.

Rejna stepped up next to the young dwarf, a new addition to her regiment, and offered him a smile. "I know it's hard to tell from up here, given how dark it is, but look at how they are dressed. Notice the length of their tunics and hair."

Hakon narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the group he had spotted down on the plain below their lookout post. "I cannot tell from here," he said at last. "How is it you can see that far away?"

"Training," she replied. "In years to come you will learn to hone all your senses, that each might aid you individually when the others fail."

The dwarf, barely of age to join the army, nodded his head solemnly. At that moment, an owl landed on the railing and hooted. Rejna noticed a piece of parchment tied to the bird's leg and retrieved it. Árni was at her side immediately with a candle.

"Halvar's company has seen a pack of orcs moving through the hills," said Rejna as she read the runes written on the parchment. "They're headed this way."

Árni, who was her second-in-command, drew up to his full 4 feet 8 inches. "What are your orders, General?"

Rejna glanced down to the small band of travelers. They were vulnerable, and likely to be slaughtered if no help came to them. She looked around at her soldiers and saw that each of them stood ready.

A wicked grin lifted the corners of her lips. "Let's hunt some orc."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

Thafar – gray (grey)

Asrân – ballad

Bahûna – friend (feminine singular)

 _khazr_ – fell (as in "bad/evil")

* * *

 **At long last our boys—and Larkspur—are about to get where they've been going. Dwarrowvale coming up for sure in the next chapter!**


	35. Chapter 35

**Oh, my Rockstar Reviewers, how I adore you! Thanks once again for the wonderfully kind words Robinbird79, readergirl4985, readpink, Aashi, and SethadoreVGC. I love that you are loving the story. Big thanks also to devouringnormal for clicking that Favorite button!**

* * *

 **35\. Thanks for the Assist**

* * *

The orc pack reached the travelers first.

Rejna and her company heard the sounds of fighting even before they broke through the trees along the bottom of the hill. She drew her sword and increased her pace, breaking into a run, and heard the others do the same.

As they drew near, she could see that both she and Hakon were right—there were dwarves _and_ elves in the party. The third tall figure she was unsure of, and was further confused to hear mad barking and snarling in the midst of the cacophony of sound.

Whatever. It was time to fight.

" _Du bekâr!_ " Rejna screamed the familiar war cry. Her soldiers echoed the cry and then the battle was engaged.

The first orc she killed had no idea what hit it. She yanked her sword from where she'd run it through, severing its spine, and turned to the next. Her second opponent lost an arm before losing its head.

"Look out!" she heard a voice cry, and immediately ducked, spinning as she did so to cleave the legs off of an orc that had snuck up behind her. She heard the distinct _thwap_ of a blade impaling flesh at the same time, and as the creature dropped unceremoniously to the ground, she noticed a knife imbedded in the center of its forehead.

As she stood, she turned and looked into a pair of crystal blue eyes that shone with the excitement of battle. They each offered the other a sharp nod and turned to the next orc.

Though one should never _want_ to engage in a fight to the death, Rejna was one of those dwarves that nevertheless enjoyed it when she did. It gave her a rush of adrenaline she could get no other way to swing her sword and cut into the enemy, or to run one through, or even just to put fist or boot to an orc or goblin's face. She got to do all of that in the time it took to rout the pack. When she could at last pause long enough to take a good look around, she noted that all of them were dead. A tent some twenty feet away lay in tatters and a wagon was turned over on its side.

"Fíli, Elrohir—see if you can find our mounts," ordered the tallest of the unfamiliar dwarves, his long black hair marred by just a few streaks of gray. Another dwarf—this one blond—and a brown-haired elf both nodded to him and ran off.

"Gen—General..."

Rejna turned around as Hakon fell to his knees, his hands clutching his left side. Blood seeped between his gauntleted fingers.

She was by his side in an instant, with Árni across from her. "Take it easy, soldier. Just relax and breathe," she told him.

"If I may," said a voice from above her. She looked up into the face of an exceptionally tall blonde elf.

"Can you help him?"

"I need to see his wound," the elf replied.

Rejna nodded and moved aside. The elf knelt beside Hakon in her place and moved the boy's hand aside. He then surprised her by leaning down to sniff at the place blood was flowing from in a steady stream.

"The wound is clean—there was no poison on the blade that pierced him," the elf said. "Help me get his armor off."

She watched Árni comply with the directive. In moments they had Hakon's chestplate and chain mail off and the elf was peeling up his tunic. He laid a hand over the tear in the young dwarf's side, then looked across him at Árni and said, "You might want to move back."

"Why?" Árni demanded.

"Because Elvish healing is very powerful magic, Master Dwarf," spoke up the tall gray-robed figure whose origin was unclear. Rejna glanced up at him, taking in his long, scraggly hair and beard, which were also very gray. He looked like an old son of Men, but something told her there was much more to him than that.

Árni looked up to Rejna and she nodded. Reluctantly he stood and stepped back, and as the elf began to chant in his language he literally began to glow. The light surrounding him grew to such an intensity that she had to turn her eyes away.

"There now," she heard a few moments later. Looking back to where Hakon lay, she saw his eyes closed and his features relaxed.

"Is he healed?" Rejna asked as Árni once more knelt by the young soldier's side.

"Aye, he is. But he needs rest, Madam Dwarf," the elf replied as he stood. "Is there anyone else who was injured?"

"Madam?" said the voice of the black-haired dwarf, and she turned to find he was the owner of the brilliant blue eyes. How had she not noticed that before?

How had she also not noticed that her breath quickened at the sight of him—that her blood warmed in her veins? Dear Mahal, could he be…?

Rejna shook her head. Now was not the time for that—most definitely _not_ the time. She glanced around at her soldiers and was pleased to find all of them save for Hakon appeared uninjured.

"Dwalin has a cut on his arm," said another new voice—a female, much to Rejna's surprise.

"It is nothing, _Kardûna_ ," grumbled a half-bald dwarf standing by the overturned wagon next to a female with large, pointy ears and bare feet—hairy bare feet. There were three young wolves standing near them.

Rejna recognized that dwarf. She recognized the name the female had called him. "Lord Commander Dwalin?" she queried as she approached them, taking off her helmet as she did so.

He looked as surprised to see her as she was him. "Princess Rejna?"

She chuckled. "It's 'General Rejna' at the moment," she replied. "I only go by 'Princess' when I'm not on duty. What are you doing so far south of your home? It was my understanding that you were King Dáin's second shadow."

"Might I see your arm?" asked the blond elf as he approached him.

"It's nothing—just a scratch," Dwalin insisted.

"A 'scratch' does not drip blood on the ground, you big oaf," the female said forcefully. "Now let Glorfindel have a look, or I'll clock you on that thick head of yours!"

"I suggest you listen to your wife, Master Dwalin," said the gray-robed fellow. "You know Larkspur would not make such a threat idly."

Dwalin snorted. "Aye, that I do," he said as he lifted his left arm to the elf, who again sniffed it before wrapping a hand over the cut and chanting again. Though a light emanated from beneath his palm, it was not near as blinding as before.

"Dwalin, do you know these people?" said another black-haired dwarf, one with a striking resemblance to the one with the blue eyes, though this one had eyes of a deep, dark brown.

"I know a fair few," Dwalin replied as the elf released his arm. He looked down at it, then up to the elf and gave a curt nod. He next turned his gaze to the blue-eyed dwarf and gestured to her as he said, "I give you Rejna, daughter of Helga, Crown Princess of Dwarrowvale."

"Here to serve you," she said with a bow. When she straightened, she introduced each of her soldiers, then looked to Dwalin. "Now who might your friends be?"

Dwalin slipped his arm around the female next to him. "This here is Larkspur Took of the Shire. She is my wife, my One and only."

Rejna could almost feel the interest of her company behind her. "So you're one of the Shire-folk?" she asked.

Larkspur grinned. "Aye, I am a hobbit. Have you never met a hobbit before?"

"You are the first, my Lady. I look forward to getting to know Mahal's choice for this big lump."

"Oi, I am standing right here!" Dwalin grumbled, to which his little bride laughed.

"My name is Gandalf," said the one with the scraggly hair. "I am Gandalf the Gray."

"You I have heard of," Rejna said with a nod. "It is an honor to meet you, sir."

"Have you now? How wonderful—and it is a pleasure to meet you as well, Princess. Those of our party who went looking for our ponies and horses are Elrohir, son of Elrond, and Dwalin's kinsman Fíli," Gandalf went on. "That one there is Fíli's younger brother, Kíli; that one is their uncle, Thorin—"

"Not Thorin Stonehelm? Dáin's son?" Rejna asked, eyeing the dwarf warily. It could not be possible that the son of Erebor's king was her One.

If indeed what she had felt on looking into his eyes was the first sign of the firestorm and not simply a leftover rush of adrenaline from the brief battle they had just fought.

He frowned at her scrutiny. "No, I am not," he said. "Though we are both of us named for Thorin the First."

"I thought the only other Thorin of Durin's Folk was Thorin Oakenshield," said one of Rejna's company.

"The names of famous kings are often used, Gunnar, you know that," Árni spoke up.

"And lest I be forgotten, I am Glorfindel," said the golden-haired elf as he raised a hand and placed it over his heart.

"Glorfindel... That name is familiar, even amongst our kin," Rejna said. "Are you the Balrog Slayer?"

"He can't be," said Gunnar. "That Glorfindel died fighting that balrog, remember?"

"Actually, Master Dwarf, I am he. By the grace of the Valar I was reborn, and I returned to Middle-earth because there is still much to do here."

"Uncle!" cried a voice approaching from the west. Rejna looked and saw the blond dwarf and brunette elf—Fíli and Elrohir, she recalled—leading a number of ponies and three horses.

"Oh good, you found them!" said Kíli.

"They did not go far, Master Kíli," said Elrohir. "They were frightened, but it is dark and they are in unfamiliar territory."

"Now that we are all together again, perhaps we can settle back down for the evening," said Gandalf. He looked around then, and with a huff he said, "Or at least as good as can be done amongst the bodies of the dead."

"That reminds me," said Thorin, his deep baritone voice grabbing Rejna's attention and setting her nerves to buzzing again. "I offer your company my thanks for coming to our aid."

Rejna bowed her head. "It was our honor and our duty," she said.

"Where did you come from, exactly?" asked Fíli. "The Rohirrim told us there were no paths through the mountains."

Rejna laughed, her soldiers laughing with her. "That is what they are meant to think, Master Fíli. But we have a way through the mountains that leads directly to our capital."

She then pointed up to the nearest of the foothills. "You cannot see it in the darkness, but there's a lookout near the top of that hill—that's where we saw you from. The commander of another post sent a message by owl that the orcs were moving this way, so we came to intercept them or lend you our assistance, whichever service we would be able to provide."

"An owl?" queried Thorin.

"Yes, an owl," said Rejna. "Unlike our kin in the north, who use ravens to carry urgent messages, we long ago trained owls instead."

"Why is that?" asked Kíli.

"Because ravens go to roost at twilight, and it is often after dark that a message needs to be conveyed. Most owls are nocturnal, making them perfectly suited to being nighttime messengers. There are two kinds of owls that are diurnal, and so they are the ones we use in daytime."

"You don't use ravens at all?" asked Dwalin.

Rejna nodded. "Only in the last few years, since reconnecting with our northern kin—you recognize them better than owls up there. There are very few of Durin's blood in Dwarrowvale to understand them. Our settlement was begun by my ancestors, who were of the Blacklock clan, along with a number of Stiffbeards and Ironfists."

"What few of Durin's Folk that live in Dwarrowvale are refugees from the north, who came down when Smaug took the Lonely Mountain," said Árni. "My father was one such dwarrow. Most—including him—have since returned north to their ancestral homeland."

"And why did you not go with your father, if I may ask?" asked Thorin.

Árni shrugged. "Erebor does not hold the same sentimental value to me as it did him. I was born here in Dwarrowvale. It's the only home I know."

Thorin glanced at his nephews, who then glanced at each other before looking to the ground. Rejna found that interesting—just who were these dwarves?

"You never answered my question, Dwalin," she said then. "What brings the Lord Commander of the King's Guard so far south?"

"I journeyed with my kin," Dwalin replied, gesturing toward Thorin. "They were determined to come here themselves, and so I thought to travel with them. 'Tis a good thing, too, as it was on our passage through the Shire that I met my lovely bride."

"And what of your duty to your king?"

The balding dwarf cleared his throat. "I am serving my king," he said. "It was Dáin who sent me on my journey."

"And why would he do that?" spoke up Gunnar.

"Gunnar!" Rejna said sharply, turning to look at him. "It is not your place to ask such a question."

He bowed his head. "Forgive my impertinence, General."

Rejna looked back to Dwalin, though she found she could not help pausing her gaze on Thorin, who studied her now with a critical eye. "I will admit that I am as curious as Gunnar as to why Dáin would send you on such a journey, but in the end it matters not. You are a friend to us and will be most welcome for however long you choose to stay in Dwarrowvale."

She then glanced back at Hakon, who still lay unconscious on the ground. Her eyes lifted to Glorfindel. "Can he be woken for travel?" she asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. "I would not advise waking him. The wound he received was deep and it took some measure of my power to save him. It is best he gets what rest the magic allows him."

"For that you have my gratitude, by the way," Rejna told him with a bow of her head. "He only turned of age to join the army this winter."

She looked around then, much as Gandalf had. "If your party are not too worn from the fight, we can take you with us when we return."

"And when will you do that?" Thorin asked.

When she looked to him, Rejna's heartbeat quickened its pace yet again. _Oh Mahal, is this really happening?_ she wondered silently.

Clearing her throat she said, "I would prefer we do so now, but if Hakon cannot be moved—"

Glorfindel chuckled. "I said it would be unwise to wake him at present, Madam Dwarf, not that he couldn't be moved. If your path through the mountains is wide enough to allow our wagon to pass, I'm fairly certain Master Thorin would grant you use of it to transport your young soldier."

Rejna looked to him. "Dwalin said you were traveling to Dwarrowvale?"

Thorin nodded. "Aye. And I would be most grateful, General, if you would grant us permission to get there through this shortcut you speak of."

"Yeah, Uncle was not looking forward to having to go all the way around the chain to get there," said Kíli.

Again, Rejna and her company laughed. "Yes, that would have been a long and tiresome journey. I know it is late and you were camped for the night, but if you are willing, my soldiers and I would be glad to take you into the city. It is the least we can do for what you have done for Hakon."

She looked up to Glorfindel. "I dread to think what would have happened had you not been here, _Udrafu Abzag Durinul_."

Glorfindel merely bowed his head to her, and so the new dwarves set about gathering their things that had been spilled from the wagon as the elves and Gandalf—and some of her own soldiers—gathered the orc bodies and piled them for burning. Larkspur introduced her to the three wolves and explained not only how they had come by them but who was the master of each. She glanced down at Bahûna, who had become Thorin's pet, to find the she-wolf staring back at her. She glanced at the dwarf she had chosen as her companion and could see why—he was most definitely alpha material. He had an air of authority that was not unlike her father's or Dáin's, and he had a commanding presence that intrigued her. It was not lost on Rejna that neither he nor his nephews had been introduced as "son of" as was proper—only that they were kin to Dwalin. She knew he was kin to Dáin, who was kin to the late Thorin Oakenshield.

The dwarrow lass was snapped from her musings by Árni, who said, "General, we are ready to put Hakon into the wagon."

She nodded and turned to help lift the boy. She, Árni, Gunnar, and Dag carefully lifted Hakon and carried him around the wagon, which was thankfully not high of the ground. The travelers' supplies, she noted, had been packed on the backs of their ponies or were being carried by them. After directing her company to line up on either side of the wagon, she moved to take the lead…

…and found Thorin already waiting there. Rejna was not surprised—she had already guessed he was the leader of this group, despite the wizard and the two elves being bearers of magic. He handed her one of the two torches he held and she nodded in silence before beginning the march.

It was difficult not to think about him when he walked right next to her. He was one of the tallest dwarves she had ever met—he had to be just shy of a full five feet. Dwalin, she had noticed on seeing them next to each other, was actually taller but by less than an inch. His hair was long and black, though he had little beard to speak of. His eyes, however… Even in the dark of night they had shone bright and clear, and were a shade of blue she could not recall ever having seen before. Her skin fairly buzzed with being so close to the dwarrow, and she felt quite warm even thought there was a fine breeze blowing.

No one spoke until they had passed into the trees at the base of the hill. "Forgive me if I seem rude, but how will we get into the mountains? Are not Dwarven doors invisible even to their makers when closed?" asked Elrohir.

"That they are, Master Elf," Rejna replied as she stopped before the rock face. "However, it helps one to know how to knock."

She then rapped her knuckles against the stone in the long-familiar pattern, passed the torch in her left hand to Thorin, and laid her palms against it, pushing with a little force to move the two stone doors apart.

"How remarkable," observed Gandalf as the doors opened. "It is bespelled with a knock pattern rather than a key or password."

Rejna glanced over her shoulder and grinned, then accepted her torch back before leading the way forward once more.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Du bekâr_ – To arms

 _Udrafu Abzag Durinul_ – Killer of Durin's Bane

* * *

 **Okay, I know I promised they would get to Dwarrovale in this chapter and they didn't. Sorry! I didn't expect to the conversations and observation on Rejna's part to take so long, and rather than making the chapter too exceptionally long, I thought the entrance was a good place to break off. They will most definitely be getting to Dwarrowvale in chapter 36. I swear!**


	36. Chapter 36

**I can never thank my reviewers enough. SethadoreVGC, readergirl4985, readpink, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, and Celebrisilweth—you all rock hardcore for your kindness. I am chuffed you all are still with me enjoying this story. I also thank all the lurkers who read along in silence, and a special shout-out goes to camomila3 and Lyane de Rivesen for clicking the favorite and follow buttons!**

* * *

 **36\. The Eighth Kingdom**

"And some things, that should not have been forgotten, were lost…"

~ Galadriel, FotR introduction

* * *

Thorin was having a hard time keeping his thoughts straight.

The dwarf he had aided was female. And not just any female—Dwalin had introduced her as the crown princess of the very kingdom to which they were headed! What was she doing out here, fighting orcs in the middle of the night?! Of course he knew that some dwarrow females became warriors, but if she was somehow next in line to the throne, why was she not at home in the city, where she would be safe?

Wait a minute—why did he even care? It was her right to learn not only to defend herself, but her people. After all, Fíli had learned. He'd taught him that it was a king's duty to see to it his people were safe, that in the eyes of the people a king was measured by his prowess in battle. A future queen might well be judged the same.

 _One such as she should not be allowed to put herself at risk_ , he thought. _I would not allow her to fight if she were mine_.

That thought nearly stopped him in his tracks. He again asked himself why he cared. He didn't, and with a minute shake of his head, brushed the odd train of thought aside as mere surprise that it had been decades since any female dwarrow of his acquaintance had chosen the warrior life. He refused to consider that once she had removed her helmet and he had seen her face, Rejna had struck him as exceptionally beautiful. She had a brilliant smile, a sweet laugh, and in the light of the fire he'd noted she had pale green eyes with a dark ring around them.

So Dwarrowvale's "fine princess", as Dáin had described her, was pretty. What concern was that to him?

Before he knew it, they were approaching the bottom of the hill. Thorin saw no sign of a door, but that was to be expected.

"Forgive me if I seem rude, but how will we get into the mountains? Are not Dwarven doors invisible even to their makers when closed?" asked Elrohir from behind him.

"That they are, Master Elf," Rejna replied as she came to a stop. "However, it helps one to know how to knock."

She lifted her right hand and rapped her knuckles against the stone in an odd pattern, then passed the torch in her left hand to him. Thorin took it and she laid both of hers against the hill, pushing until two doors parted.

"How remarkable," came Gandalf's voice. "It is bespelled with a knock pattern rather than a key or password."

Rejna glanced over her shoulder and grinned, and again Thorin felt an odd sensation in his chest at seeing her smile. He quashed it and passed her torch back to her when she held her hand out for it, then she stepped through the doors. He was not surprised to see there were guards waiting on the other side.

The four came to attention immediately. "At ease," she told them, then turned to the side as Thorin led the others inside. Luckily the tunnel ceiling was high enough that even with his hat on, Gandalf would be able to walk upright.

"Árni, I want you, Gunnar, and Dag to come with me to escort our guests and Hakon to the city," Rejna said to her company. "The rest of you will return to the lookout to finish your tour of duty."

"Yes, General," said the one called Árni. The remaining eight soldiers immediately headed for a doorway Thorin had noted as he came inside; beyond was a staircase that he could see wound upwards.

Once their entire party was through, Rejna stepped up to the open doors, knocked once on each, and then stepped back as they began to close. She turned quickly around and returned to his side at the fore of the small column, gesturing forward for them to continue. He would have wondered how they would see where they were going but for the sconces on the walls about six feet up from the floor that held what looked to be tallow candles. Ahead he noted more of them, spaced at regular intervals.

"I have some questions about Dwarrowvale," Thorin said, trying to keep his mind from dwelling on the rush of warmth he'd felt at her being next to him again.

A smirk came over her features. "Allow me to guess the nature of your questions, Master Thorin: How come you've never heard of our kingdom?"

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at her. "Aye, that would be at the center of my curiosity. Dáin did not tell me much save to say that you had a good king and a …"

He stopped, not wanting to repeat his cousin's evaluation of the lass at his side.

"A what?" she asked.

Thorin swallowed. "A fine princess," he confessed.

Rejna laughed. "He would say so—he has hopes his son and I will marry. Though I am not of Durin's Folk, I am a princess. His son is now a prince, so of course we would make a good match—at least to Dáin's way of thinking. He lamented several times that he wished he'd not sent Thorin to escort his mother and sisters to Erebor for the first Durin's Day celebration in the mountain since it was reclaimed. I'd have met him then had their convoy not been delayed; Dáin was quite dismayed that they not only missed the wedding of Bard and Tauriel of Dale, but the entire celebration that night."

Thorin recalled Dáin mentioning that Dale's king and queen had married on Durin's Day. "What delayed the convoy?"

"I could not say. My party and I took our leave early the next morning and they had not yet arrived. Unfortunately, I've not had chance to go north since. But Dáin and my father have exchanged a few letters over the last four years, and in each he made mention that his son was well past marriageable age and that it would strengthen ties between our two kingdoms if they could convince Thorin and I to wed."

He could not suppress the chuckle that rose in his throat. "So that is why you seemed so wary of me when Gandalf gave my name—you were afraid I was him. Do you think Dáin would force his son upon you?"

Rejna snorted. "I would not put it past him."

She then glanced over for a moment and said, "Though I will say nothing of King Dáin's assessment of me, I have no reservation in proclaiming his judgment of my father to be true. He is a wise and fair ruler to our people, and this would be my opinion of him even were we not blood kin."

Thorin acknowledged her words with a nod, and Rejna looked forward again. "As to your curiosity," she went on, "I am not surprised there are still dwarrow in the north who have no knowledge of us."

"But how can it be that an entire kingdom of our kin has gone unnoticed for more than a thousand years?" Thorin pressed. "It was my understanding that all settlements in these mountains were abandoned."

She snorted again, and he noticed her expression had changed to a scowl. "We have the Brotherhood to thank for that. You see, it was precisely 1,500 years ago that my ancestor, King Tors, allowed the first marriage of a dwarrow male to a daughter of Men. Rumor has it that the fellow talked an innocent farmer's daughter into giving up her virtue and her father demanded he marry her because of it, but our official history says he swore she was his One. I suppose the people wondered if it was true that Mahal would choose a non-dwarrow for us, so some began to entertain the idea given the decline in female births. The couple was recorded as having three children, two of whom were daughters."

Thorin glanced over his shoulder and noted that his entire party—especially Dwalin and Larkspur—were eagerly listening to the story. "And how does the Brotherhood of Mahal figure into this?"

"Well, you know how fanatical that lot can be," Rejna replied. "Over the next 40 years, our kin became more open to the idea of marrying outside the dwarrow race, especially if it meant increasing the chances of having a daughter. Some of the dwarves involved said their mates were indeed Mahal's choice for them, others took husbands or wives from the Men of Rohan and Gondor by their own choice. Some of those unions were arranged to further alliances or as part of a business contract.

"When the Brotherhood got wind of Tors allowing the mixing of dwarrow blood with so-called inferior races, they demanded he put a stop to it. He refused, because his people were accepting the mates and children who were _Siginkanân_ , in whole and in part. Families were growing, his people prospering—more female children were born in that period than in centuries."

She paused, and when it seemed she would not continue, Thorin began to get an idea where the tale was heading. He had heard the stories of the Brotherhood's interference in such pairings. "The Brotherhood did not react kindly to being refused," he said.

"No, they did not. At first they only issued idle threats, and when Tors continued refusing to break up the marriages and cast out the ' _khazr_ spawn', they resorted to vandalism. That quickly escalated to violence as folk defended home and property. When the first deaths occurred, there were some that encouraged Tors to give in to their demands. After all, were a mere hundred spouses and children among thousands of dwarrow really worth risking war with the Brotherhood?"

Dwalin swore behind him. Thorin looked over his shoulder again as his friend said, "Of course they were! How could even one dwarrow suggest abandoning mates and children?!"

Thorin understood his anger—he felt it as well. Wives and children, especially daughters, had long been the most precious of treasures to a dwarf. Family was everything. It was the very core of their society.

"Please continue, Princess Rejna," said Glorfindel. "I am quite stunned that in all my travels since my rebirth, I have not heard this unfortunate tale."

"That does not surprise me either, Master Elf. The Brotherhood doesn't like their dirty history being made public," Rejna said. "As it was, Tors once again refused. He would not forsake any of his people, for those mates and their children were considered as much a member of Dwarrowvale society as any dwarf in his eyes. But after a number of years of continued conflict, he grew weary of the violence and bloodshed. Innocent children were being slaughtered by this point, and it was not unheard of that a female with child had the unborn babe torn from her womb, even if she were dwarrow—if the child was not a full dwarf, in the eyes of the Brotherhood it had no right to live."

Thorin felt a shudder crawl up his spine, as well as his disgust for the Brotherhood deepen. He was appalled that any of his kind who claimed reverence for their Maker would consider the taking of an innocent life justified.

Rejna finished the story then, saying that her ancestor had at last made a request of the Brotherhood for a compromise. Wanting the killing to end, he asked what measures he would need to take in order to keep the families together, to allow his people to mate whomever they wished. The Brotherhood said if he desired to continue allowing dwarrow blood to be sullied, they would ensure Dwarrowvale passed from all knowledge of their kin in the north. Dozens of families fled the kingdom to escape being exiled from their distant relations, but—as Rejna put it—"the true remained."

"He was also forced to swear that the line of kings would not be 'broken' by the blood of Men," she said at last. "I've never really understood why, if the Brotherhood were not only going to cut us off from the north but thereafter ignore us themselves."

She then looked to Thorin and asked, "When I visited Erebor four years ago, I heard a few stories as to why folk had not heard of us. Tell me, what were you told?"

"As children we were taught that the gold, silver, mithril, and gems in these mountains had run out," he replied. "That because the mountains were no longer providing wealth to our people, they were of no more use to us, and that was why they were abandoned."

Rejna was not the only one of the Dwarrowvale dwarves to snort in disgust. "That was much the same story we heard from Dáin and his people. Another tale was that my ancestors were forced out by Gondor so they could have the riches in the mountains for themselves."

"Our people have long suspected, Master Thorin, that not only did the Brotherhood spread those lies, but those of our kin that left were forced to tell those tales in order to discourage others from coming back here," said Dag.

"And so it was that the riches and people of Dwarrowvale passed into legend," muttered Gunnar. "It's a wonder any of our northern kin found their way here when the Lonely Mountain was lost."

"What made you decide to break the vow of silence, as it were?" queried Gandalf.

"For many long years, the dwarves of this kingdom restricted their trade and travel, going only as far east as Minas Tirith and as far north as Edoras," Rejna said. "Then four years ago, myself, Árni, Gunnar and another of our regiment happened upon three dwarves in Minas Tirith that were not of our people."

"'Twas when she met Balin, Bofur, and Ori during Bard's expedition," Dwalin said.

"Aye," Rejna confirmed. "When we returned to Dwarrowvale and told my father of the reclaiming of Erebor, he decided that Dwarrowvale had been hidden in shadow far too long, and that it was time we retook our place in the world."

"Already I think your father is wise indeed, my Lady," spoke up Elrohir.

"Re-integration has been slow. As I said before, I've only been north once, and few others have come south," Rejna said. "I imagine much of the northern resources have been turned toward restoring Erebor."

"Then how do you maintain trade?" Thorin asked.

She chuckled. "Just because I haven't been north doesn't mean no one has. Each year since the news was told to our people that Smaug was dead, caravans have gone north at the start of spring, and return in the fall in time for Durin's Day."

Though it probably should not have surprised him, Thorin was still amazed at the news. "You celebrate Durin's Day?"

Rejna looked at him. "Why wouldn't we? Our people may not be Durin's Folk, Master Thorin, but that does not change the fact he was the greatest of Dwarven kings. We celebrate Durin's Day to honor him, as every dwarrow should."

He offered her a smile and a nod to acquiesce the point. Silence fell over the group for several minutes, until Larkspur asked, "Excuse me, Princess Rejna, but how much longer until we reach your city?"

"It is two days to the edge of the city, Madam Hobbit."

"Two days?! Why didn't you tell us that before?"

Thorin caught Rejna's gaze passing over him as she stopped and turned slowly around. "I should think it obvious, Madam. We are traveling _through_ a mountain, after all."

Larkspur turned to Dwalin with a pained expression. "We can't walk for two days! I don't think I can even walk for half a day—I'm exhausted!"

Thorin looked over the company. He and Rejna were at the fore with Bahûna between them; Dwalin and Larkspur were just behind, leading their ponies with Asrân dutifully beside his mistress. Fíli and Kíli were next, leading their ponies—Thafar, amusingly enough, was laying across Kíli's saddle—and Thorin's own pony was hitched to the wagon. The dwarf named Dag was driving the wagon, which carried their injured soldier, followed by Árni and Gunnar. Gandalf and the two elves, each leading their own horse, brought up the rear.

Though the elves and the dwarves of Dwarrowvale—and Gandalf—did not, his own people were showing signs of fatigue, the hobbit most of all. He'd been pushing them hard to get to Dwarrowvale before the end of summer. Had they been forced to go all the way around the eastern end of the mountains, they might not have arrived until fall or later.

"What was your plan, Princess? Did you mean to march us through this tunnel for two days straight?" Thorin asked.

She frowned as she looked his way. "Of course not. There is a bunk room at the half point, as well as a small stable—should provide enough room for your mounts and gear."

Rejna then glanced at Larkspur, who was leaning into Dwalin, and gave a small sigh. "My apologies. I did not take into account that your small company were already abed for the night when the orcs attacked. I suggested making for the city at once because I wish for Hakon to be evaluated by one of our healers ere he returns to his duties."

"It is a wise precaution," Thorin said. "But is there nowhere we might stop and rest for a few hours?"

"If you don't mind spending the night on the floor of the tunnel," Rejna began, "there's a privy about another hour from here; we can stop there. I imagine you'll have need of that as well."

"Oh, the use of a privy would be splendid," said Larkspur.

Rejna's expression relaxed into a smile. "There are a number of them along the path to the city—one can hardly travel through a mountain for two days without the need to relieve themselves."

As they continued on, Thorin posed questions to Rejna about her kingdom and her people. He desired to gather as much information as possible that it might help him discover why Mahal had sent him here. It also helped, to an extent, to distract him from the warmth that had spread through him upon their meeting. Listening to the continuous melody of her voice, though mesmerizing in its own way, was enough to stop him constantly looking over at her. Though the thought had briefly occurred to him, he refused to entertain the notion that she might be his One—he was too old for that. A dwarf his age was not likely to be so fortunate, not when he had less than a century left to him.

No, this was simply lustful reaction to a beautiful female. Though it had been years since a lass of any species had triggered such a reaction, he knew it would pass. It always did, and he had more important things to concern himself with.

When they reached the privy Rejna had mentioned, camp was set up as best they could. This mostly consisted of their party laying down their bedrolls on either side of the tunnel, though Dwalin offered his to be used by Rejna or one of her soldiers, choosing instead to sit up so that Larkspur might rest her head on his lap. Though he dozed intermittently, Thorin found rest hard to come by. He couldn't stop himself thinking that they were _finally_ here, or near enough to it. His anxiety over reaching Dwarrowvale now shifted, and he began to wonder what would come next.

Most likely, they would first seek housing, and then secure employment—it was the logical thing to do. After that he was unsure, and considering the lecture he had received from Gandalf about letting go, Thorin found himself taking a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of his worry…

…only to find it occupied by thoughts of the dam who was their guide. Annoyed, he sat up and looked around, a frown marring his brow as he noted everyone save for Elrohir and Glorfindel were asleep, even Dag and Gunnar. Hakon he assumed was still unconscious, and Rejna was nowhere in sight.

Glancing at the two elves, who stood by their horses, he asked as he pushed himself to his feet, "Where is the general?"

"She and Árni went ahead to check on the lighting, to make sure none had gone out," said Elrohir. "They should be returning soon, I imagine."

With Árni, was she? Just how close were they? he wondered before he could stop the thought. Thorin suppressed a growl. It did not matter. Árni was merely a soldier in her regiment, and if he was not, what did he care?

 _This insanity needs to stop_ , he told himself. _I've known her but a few hours and already I am_ —

Wait, was he really getting _jealous_ over a dwarrow he didn't even know, over a female he didn't even want? Dragging a hand over his face as he stifled a groan, he turned back in the direction of their travel and noted two figures walking toward them. He studiously ignored the rush of pleasure he felt at seeing the princess coming toward him with a smile on her lips.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said as she and Árni neared. "It's been near five hours since we stopped—do you think your hobbit friend can go on now? It's still near a day's journey to the bunk room."

"I believe she will manage," Thorin replied. "It may be easier on Larkspur if she is driving the wagon. Hobbits are used to eating several times a day, but on the road we could not abide the schedule. This change in her normal routine sometimes saps her energy."

"Just how many times a day do they eat?" asked Árni.

Thorin grinned ruefully. "Seven."

The surprised expressions that crossed their faces made him laugh. "I believe I will enjoy learning about hobbits and their ways," Rejna said, then the three of them set about waking everyone to start the journey.

Larkspur was indeed in better spirits when she learned she'd be guiding the wagon, and after visits to the privy, fruits and dried meat were passed around and they set off. The monotony of a lack of scenery was broken by Rejna and her men answering more of their questions—the hobbit was quite ecstatic on learning that the kingdom actually had three schools and that her skills as a teacher would be welcome. Kíli was intrigued when Gunnar mentioned that the Hunters' Guild was looking for a new archery instructor, as was Fíli when he learned there were plenty of furniture shops at which he could acquire work. Rejna was direct in suggesting that Dwalin join the army if he and Larkspur were sure to reside in Dwarrowvale, at least as an instructor. He told her he would consider it once he had secured a home for his wife.

"And what of you, Master Thorin? In what trade are you skilled?" Rejna asked then.

"I have some talent with crafting weapons," he replied, "as well as virtually anything for which a forge is required."

"So you're a blacksmith and a weaponsmith?"

"Aye."

"Perhaps then you might also consider joining the regiments. A skilled weaponsmith is certainly always in demand," she said.

"Do you not wish to see some example of my skill before issuing such an invitation?"

"Certainly, but I've little doubt in your skill though I've yet to see it. After all, you're a dwarf."

He smiled at her praise and was greatly pleased that she smiled in return. Soon after they paused, as Hakon had woken. A quick examination by Glorfindel deemed him fully recovered, though he took no offense at Rejna's insistence that the young dwarf be seen by a healer before she would clear him for duty.

They indeed reached the bunk room she had spoken of by the end of a long day's march, and after securing the ponies, horses, and wagon in the small stable across the hall, all settled down with gratitude into a bed. The next day was endured much the same way, with questions being asked and answered all around. At one point Larkspur began to sing to herself and everyone quieted to listen.

At the end of the second long day in the tunnel, by which time Dwalin had joined Larkspur in the wagon and she leaned against him to sleep, the party at long last reached the end. Before a wide, open archway stood another set of guards, and beyond Thorin could see massive columns that led bittersweet memories of Erebor to flash across his consciousness.

Rejna passed through first, and then turned around to face them as the group filed out of the tunnel. Thorin heard a soft gasp from Larkspur and knew Dwalin had woken her that she could see the magnificence of the cavern; around the tops and bottoms of the columns the residents had long ago carved and built from stone were natural stalactites and stalagmites that shimmered faintly in the light of the oil lamps hanging on ropes strung between the columns themselves.

With her arm raised to gesture at the grand space now before them Rejna smiled, pride for her homeland evident in her shining green eyes as she spoke to them in Khuzdul.

" _Naidmî bahithê du id Khazad-dubanu_."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Siginkanân_ – Men

" _Naidmî bahithê du id Khazad-dubanu_." – Welcome, my friends, to the Valley of Dwarves. (Dwarrowvale is the name of the kingdom in Westron. It means "Dwarf valley". This will be further explained in the next chapter.)


	37. Chapter 37

**Reviewers, how I love thee... Robinbird79, readpink, readergirl4985, Deareader, Aashi, SethadoreVGC—thank you all so much for the kind words. I really am chuffed you are still enjoying this story so much and are so enthusiastic for it.**

 **Deareader—Thank you! I think "our" dwarves are going to be quite surprised indeed by how well their Dwarrowvale kin get on with Men, which will be quite the irony because they haven't always gotten on with their own kind, thanks to the Brotherhood. And yes, Thorin has a chance to he happy. If only he'd see it that way!**

 **Aashi—Chapter 35: That is exactly how I imagine Rejna, tough but kind. They'll see she has a sensitivity they're not used to from dwarf women, most likely due to such close relations with Men, but don't worry. She is definitely all dwarf. And I'm glad the action pleased you! Chapter 36: Thank you yet again. I knew when I started this story that the guys were not going to stay in Erebor. I had recalled reading something about how there "could have been" dwarves in the White Mountains, but there was nothing definitive in the canon, so I thought that an ideal location for them to settle. Then I figured there would definitely be dwarves there, but that something had to have happened to keep them from being recorded in the histories for a long time, so that's what gave me the idea to create a fanatical faction among the dwarves that once were noble but aren't anymore, and that they would be the cause behind a lot of conflict even if folk weren't aware they were.**

* * *

 **37\. Happy Secrets**

* * *

Rejna allowed them a moment to appreciate the beauty of the almost-untouched cavern.

Thorin appreciated the gesture, for it had been years uncounted since he had been allowed the opportunity to just enjoy his Maker's handiwork. Even the elves, by whom he knew starlight was greatly revered, looked around with expressions of wonder.

"We should get going," the princess said then. "It is still another hour until we reach the garrison."

"Garrison?" said Fíli. "Why would you take us there?"

"Because, Master Fíli, it is the closest facility at which we are like to find you a bed," Rejna replied with a grin. "There are no inns this far back into the mountain. No homes. I believe it is the middle of the night, but if you'd prefer to keep going, I've got a few more hours in me."

It took only a barely audible whimper from Larkspur before Fíli smiled and shook his head. "No, that's quite all right. A few hours rest will do wonders for the day ahead of us getting to know your kingdom."

Rejna nodded and turned to lead the way once more. They were headed toward another tunnel, and had just reached it when a throat cleared behind them, then Kíli's voice was heard to say, "Forgive my ignorance, Princess, but do you think you could explain the kingdom's name to us? I mean, in the Common Tongue it is Dwarrowvale, which I know means 'dwarf valley', and in our language it translates to much the same—the 'valley of dwarves'. Why would your ancestors choose such a name if they lived inside the mountain?"

Again it was a moment that set all the native dwarves to laughing. Rejna sobered first. "All right now lads, we can't fault the boy for not knowing."

"Boy?" Kíli said indignantly. "I'll have you know I'm seventy-eight years old!"

Another round of laughter. "Which means, _Irakdashat_ , that you are only older than Larkspur and Hakon," Thorin said, looking to Rejna for confirmation. She did so with a nod and a grin.

"Allow me to educate you, Master Kíli," she said. "South of this particular mountain and its closest neighbors is a valley, through which two rivers flow from the mountains themselves before converging and pouring into a lagoon that opens into the Bay of Balfalas. This section of the mountains also has two arms, so to speak, that encircle said valley. Because it basically lays at our front door, the land was unofficially given to our control, even though families of Men had found it and began making their homes there. A great number of the mixed families live out in the valley."

"Thus it became the 'Valley of Dwarves'," said Árni.

"How many mixed families are there?" Larkspur asked.

"Oh, a fair few," Árni replied. "Perhaps ten or fifteen percent of the population. In truth, most dwarves still prefer to marry dwarves, but if one of us finds his or her One among the Men or simply chooses to marry one for affection alone, hardly an eye is batted."

Rejna glanced over her shoulder at her, her eyes flicking to Dwalin also as she said, "You need not fear that you will not be accepted here. Lord Commander Dwalin says you are his One, and so not a single dwarf will question Mahal's will."

"Has anyone ever lied about finding their One?"

All of the dwarves, including her husband and his kin, snorted or grunted in a derisive manner. "To falsely declare we have discovered Mahal's choice would be blasphemy," said Thorin. "No dwarrow who values his or her honor would risk the Maker's wrath in such a manner. To tell such a lie shames not only the dwarf who speaks it but also their family."

"And what if someone says you're their One, but you don't want them?" the hobbit pressed.

"No dwarf in his or her right mind would be so foolish," piped up Fíli.

"Denying the will of Mahal is also said to be blasphemy, Madam Hobbit," said Gunnar. "Besides, why would anyone fight fate? It takes so much of the burden of finding a mate from your shoulders if you accept that a higher power has made the choice for you."

The turn in the conversation began to bother Thorin, and so he remained silent, his eyes focused straight ahead. If what he'd been feeling since he'd got his first look at Rejna's face was what it _could_ be, then was he not committing a grievous sin by denying what his body was telling him? Was he not dishonoring himself and his Maker by ignoring what could be the first of the signs he had warned Fíli and Kíli not to forget?

No, he decided after a moment. It simply did not make sense to him that she could be his One. He would be 196 in a month's time (he and his nephews had chosen not to count the four years they'd been displaced), and every dwarrow he knew who'd met his or her One had done so long before they were his age. Even Dwalin, who was 22 years his junior.

Not to mention Rejna was… Well, he couldn't know for sure without her saying so, but if his assessment was correct—and it usually was—she couldn't be more than 20 or 30 years older than Kíli. He estimated her age based on her being a general in rank and his knowledge that among dwarves in the north, she'd have had to be in the army a minimum of 40 years to achieve it. Which meant she was, at most, only a decade over the century mark. And while that might mean the princess was at a prime age for mating and bearing children, he was well past it. The best a dwarf on the edge of finishing his second century could hope for was a comfortable home, honest work, good food, and hopefully more than a little coin to pay for his wants and needs.

No, he was not denying Mahal's will. He was simply accepting that it would be a fool's hope to even entertain the idea that after all his long years of hardship—of denying his own wants, his own happiness—for the sake of his people, he would be granted such a blessing with less than a hundred years to live. It would be unfair to them both.

 **-...-**

"General."

Rejna hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until Hakon shook her shoulder. Looking up at the boy, she noted he looked good.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"I am well, General. The garrison healer says I'm fit as a fiddle," Hakon replied. "The elf did fine work in healing me."

He then cleared his throat. "I came to wake you because… Well, because I think there's a problem."

She sat up immediately, swinging her legs over the side of the cot and slipping her feet into her boots. "What kind of problem?"

"Well, that hobbit lady. She went into the privy a while ago and hasn't come back out."

Rejna raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why are you bringing this to my attention? Why have you not alerted her husband?"

Color rose to ruddy cheeks and the younger dwarf looked down at his feet. "Um, well… I uh, I thought maybe… Well, that it might be a female problem."

She resisted the urge to laugh. Hakon had two sisters, giving him an insight into females most dwarrow males still lacked. And while Larkspur might have a perfectly good reason for not having returned to her bed, it probably wouldn't hurt to look in on her.

"All right, I'll see to her. Are the others up yet?" she said as she stood at last.

"No, General. It is not yet dawn."

Rejna stifled a yawn. "Then I'd best get Ms. Took sorted before Dwalin wakes up."

Hakon nodded and ducked out of her room. Rejna took a quick look at herself in the mirror to ensure her hair wasn't a complete mess, smoothed a couple of flyaways, and then went in search of Larkspur. There were two privy rooms in the garrison, each with four toilets—one on each level. All the new arrivals had been given beds on the ground floor, so the hobbit wasn't hard to find.

The poor thing was retching into the bowl closest to the door.

Rejna was on her knees beside her in a moment. "Larkspur, are you well?"

"Obviously… I am not," the hobbit replied, sounding miserable.

Studying the other female as she slumped back against the wall, Rejna noted how peaked she appeared. Her posture was slumped, her head braced in one hand with her elbow on the edge of the toilet and the other holding her stomach.

An idea began to form, and so she asked, "Do hobbit females have monthly bleeds?"

"Aye. Mine starts the 22nd of every month, regular as clockwork," Larkspur replied. "Or it did until April. I've not had one since then."

She looked up at last. "I know what you're suggesting. And you'd be right." A tear slipped from each eye. "I'm going to have a baby."

Though it could simply be her current misery that made her look so unhappy, Rejna still wondered, "Are you not pleased about having a child?"

Finally a smile broke, though a small one. "Oh, I am! It's just… I thought… Well, I guess I'd hoped to have a little more time to prepare for it. To just enjoy being married. We don't even have a home yet!"

"Does Dwalin know?"

Now Larkspur looked almost frightened. "Are you mad?! I couldn't tell him, not yet. I mean, do you have any idea of that dwarf's personality?"

"Well, I know he can be gruff. And stubborn. But most dwarves are," Rejna replied.

Larkspur scoffed. "Seems you got to know him when you met him in Erebor four years ago, Princess, but not very well. I love my husband dearly, with all my heart, but he can be so bloody irritating sometimes! Do you know that when we first began our journey from the Shire, I could not leave the campfire to relieve myself without him asking where I was going? He couldn't stand to let me out of his sight for a single moment."

Rejna chanced a smile. "Sweetie, that's only because he cares about you. I admit, that would bug the _khakf_ out of me as well, but knowing dwarf males as I do… He was simply looking out for you. Especially in the wilds, where anything could happen."

"And I love him for being protective, truly I do," Larkspur said. "But can you imagine how he'd have reacted if I had told him the moment I suspected I was with child?"

Here the princess could not help but laugh. "I think I'm beginning to see what you mean. If he's anything at all like the males of my acquaintance, he'd have been helpful to the point of overbearing and he'd have been by your side everywhere you went, including just going to pass water."

"Precisely! A lady, even a married one, needs some bloody privacy once in a while!" Larkspur declared. She sighed then. "I wanted to tell him. So many times I have wanted to share this joy, because I know how happy he will be. There was a time Dwalin thought himself beyond such happiness as having a wife or children. But his concern for me on our travels was already so great, I did not wish to add to his burden. Besides that, I've never been a wee delicate flower, and that's exactly how he'll treat me. I know he will."

She laughed without humor. "I suppose there's no need to keep silent anymore, as we're here even if we don't have a home of our own as yet. And it's not like the babe will come tomorrow—I've still got a whole six months to prepare myself for being a mum."

"Six months? How long do hobbit females carry?" Rejna asked.

"Eight months is our term," Larkspur replied.

Rejna cleared her throat. "I don't want to frighten you, but there's a chance you'll go longer than that. You see, dwarrow females carry ten months. Daughters of Men carry nine—most mixed pregnancies, we've learned, tend to last somewhere in between nine and ten."

Larkspur frowned. "So I could be pregnant for longer than eight months?"

"Obviously I cannot say for certain, given yours is the first dwarf-hobbit pairing in history," Rejna said. "But I would hazard to guess that it is likely."

"Well, I… I suppose that will be all right, so long as the baby is healthy." The hobbit sighed again. "Now I've got to figure out just how to tell him."

Rejna smiled. "As I recall, you have a lovely singing voice. Is there a song you know that might send the message?"

Larkspur studied her a moment, and much to Rejna's relief, her expression began to brighten. "Well, there is this one that Elrohir taught me while we traveled. There's a line in it I'd only have to change one word. But oh, I don't really like to sing in front of others—and who knows when we'll have time alone."

Rejna reached forward and took her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "If you like, I will help you. I'll come to your inn at dinnertime and that will be your cue. One of my good friends is quite like you—loves to sing, but has a hard time doing so before an audience. I always tell her to choose one face in the crowd and focus on that one person, like they're the only one she's singing to. If focusing on Dwalin doesn't work for you, you can focus on me."

"That is very kind of you—really, you have been truly kind to us all, allowing us to travel through the mountain when you don't normally bring folk through that way," Larkspur said. "I know Thorin was certainly relieved by it—he was so eager for the journey to end."

Rejna felt her blood warm. That happened anytime she thought about the handsome dwarf. Or heard him speak. Or looked at him. Or, like now, at the mere mention of his name. It could simply be a reaction to his attractiveness and nothing more—at least, that's what she tried to tell herself. Convincing herself that she was not experiencing the first of the signs she'd met her One was proving to be much harder. She'd been questioning whether she was even ready for it—so many of her kin had said that meeting their One changed their entire life.

And she wasn't quite ready for hers to change.

"I am glad I could be of service," she said at last. "Come now, let's get you up and out of here before your husband wakes and wonders where you've gone."

As the two of them entered the bunkroom where the new arrivals had taken their rest, the males were indeed rising. Dwalin immediately came toward them, concern in his expression.

"Where have you been? I woke to find you were gone from your bed."

Larkspur looked to her with an expression that said _See? What did I tell you?_ It was all Rejna could do not to laugh.

"Dwalin, seriously—can you not allow your wife to visit a privy without resorting to an inquiry?" she teased.

The balding dwarf sputtered, which set all who knew him to laughing. "Come on, fellas," Rejna said then. "Let's get you all to an inn, so you can begin your new lives in Dwarrowvale."

 **-...-**

As they had walked through the industrial areas of the mountain, then the social center where the market was held in winter (it was held out in the valley from spring through fall), through to the very front where a number of inns and taverns were located, folk had stopped to stare. There was natural curiosity as to why they were coming from the back of the mountain, and certainly more than a few whispers and stares were directed at Gandalf, Larkspur, and the two elves. Interest in the attention Dwalin paid to Larkspur was clear.

There was also much interest in Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli—many females were overheard remarking how handsome they were, though much to Kíli's dismay, there were grumblings about his lack of a proper beard. Rejna, after a polite inquiry from Larkspur, had explained that the influence of daughters of Men had led some dams—like herself—to shaving their beards that they would fit in and be more attractive to non-dwarf males (though she quickly asserted that she did it simply because she liked a smooth cheek). Over the centuries even dwarf males had seen the attraction to a female having a smooth face, though it seemed most—if not all—females rather liked her mate to have a good beard; dwarf males were still expected to grow them long, while only sons of Men were "allowed" to keep them short or only sport scruff on their jaws. Fíli leaned over and told his brother to ignore the naysayers—his beard or lack thereof was no one's business but his own.

It was when they reached the entrance that the new arrivals finally understood why Rejna's ancestors had chosen to call their home "valley of dwarves". A wide, expansive area of land dotted with homes, businesses, and a grove of trees lay before them. They could see the rivers Ciril and Ringlo pouring from their mountain beginnings.

"This is beautiful!" Larkspur cried happily. "Oh Dwalin, I know you're used to living in a mountain, but can we have a home out here in the valley?"

Dwalin grinned at her enthusiasm. "Of course, _Kardûna_. It shall be as you wish."

His kinsmen, as well as Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Elrohir, glanced around at each other with secret smiles. They knew he'd been hoping to purchase land outside the mountain, as his plan was to build Larkspur her very own hobbit hole. He had a design already in mind that combined elements from the house she grew up in with Bag End, and would also incorporate a few ideas of his own. He had been almost as eager as Thorin to reach Dwarrowvale so that he could get started on it.

"First, _Iraknana'_ , I think it wise we secure temporary housing for us all," Thorin said. "Then we can put together a solid plan for the future."

Larkspur rolled her eyes as she turned toward him. "Well of course, Thorin. 'Tis not as though I was suggesting we camp out until the house is built."

There was much sniggering at her words, and then Rejna said to them all, "I know just the place to set you up—they have beds for big folk as well. But before that, let's get those poor ponies and horses to a stable. I think they've well earned a long rest."

Not one of the company disagreed with her.


	38. Chapter 38

**Many, many thanks to readpink, Robinbird79, readergirl4985, ThatOtherWriterGirl, and Aashi for leaving me a review of chapter 37! Thanks also to Athena the Goddess of Wisdom for clicking the favorite and follow buttons, and thanks be to everyone who reads along in silence!**

 **Aashi - Yep, Dwalin will do anything for Larkspur. Making a home out in the valley instead of the mountain is nothing compared to her happiness. Besides, he'll be spending plenty of time inside the mountain in days to come. And oh yes, Thorin is being very stubborn indeed. But don't worry, he will come around. Eventually. ;)**

* * *

 **38\. A Promise Lives**

* * *

After showing them to a good stable for their mounts—with a storeroom for the wagon—and a fair-priced inn for themselves, Rejna and her soldiers took their leave.

For this, Thorin was relieved. If she wasn't around, she would not be a distraction. He would not be thinking about her instead of focusing on making plans for his new life here. First, he knew, he was going to have to figure out how they were going to get more money from Erebor—Dáin had said to write ahead of time and then come for it, but that simply wasn't practical. There was still a good portion of the treasure from the troll cave left, of course, but much of that would go to paying for lodging until they had their own homes. Then there was the feed and stabling of the ponies to pay for, not to mention Dwalin would need funds to purchase land, tools, and materials for building his and Larkspur's hobbit hole. Chances were also that assistance would be required in the construction, which meant labor costs.

He, Fíli, and Kíli would work for free, naturally. As kin, they would not dream of taking payment for their efforts, unless it was in the form of food.

As arranged, the family gathered in Thorin's room after getting settled to discuss their next moves. "Your friend the princess mentioned a caravan would be returning south in order to be here for Durin's Day," Thorin said to Dwalin. "We could have a few chests of gold, silver, and gems brought down then."

Dwalin nodded. "Aye, that could work. My only concern would be security. We would have to trust dwarves and Men we do not know to not only keep their mitts out, but also to keep them from being stolen on the way by bandits."

"Or we could trust dwarves we _do_ know," Kíli muttered.

Thorin opened his mouth to argue but his nephew held up a hand to stop him. "I know what you're going to say—we've all heard it before, a dozen times over. Frankly, I'm tired of hearing it. I've just been thinking that, as with Fee and I, should it not be up to them whether or not to take the risk?"

"Kíli's right, Uncle," Fíli added quickly. "Surely we can at least trust the members of the Company—it might even be prudent that a few more than Dáin know of our return. After all, just because we're not in Erebor doesn't mean Sauron's spies aren't."

"I hate to say it, but they've both got a point, Thorin," Dwalin said. "It's an awful heavy burden to put on Dáin alone, not to mention the questions that would arise at his filling large chests with treasure only to ship them south."

As much as he disliked having to do so, Thorin had to admit that they _all_ had a point. With all the people they knew who had already found out, even he had begun to see that the tale of their miraculous return would get out eventually. It was, as Dwalin had said at his wedding, inevitable. Even Elrond had said he believed they would not remain anonymous long. But it took only one glance at his nephews to remind Thorin of why he was holding on to the desire for their rebirth to remain secret—they were alive and well. He wanted them to stay that way.

Still, maybe it _would_ be a good idea to have extra eyes and ears open… Dáin would be too busy running the kingdom to have the time to listen to careless whispers in the dark. Grumblings of discontent or anything of that sort would not be brought to his attention until someone actually did something. Perhaps it would be wise to have someone keeping a watch out for anything that might suggest the dark lord's spies were on the move.

He loosed a sigh and said at last, "I will take your words under advisement. The caravan is not likely to begin their return for another three weeks. I have until then to decide."

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Fíli went to answer it and found Gandalf on the other side. Deciding he wanted the wizard's opinion, Thorin invited him in and explained what they had just been discussing.

"I wouldn't take more than a day, at most, to make up your mind," Gandalf said when he'd finished.

Thorin regarded him with curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

"When is the last time you truly studied a map of Middle-earth? It's a good thousand miles—give or take—from here to the Lonely Mountain," the Istar replied. "A raven flies, on average, only about thirty-five miles in a day. Fifty if you declare your message is urgent. It will take nearly a month just for the bird to arrive."

It was all he could do not to growl—he hated being backed into a corner. "All right," he barked. "I will send a message to Dáin today. But who should he tell? Who should we recommend he send with the shipment?"

"Your Company should be told, and no one else," Larkspur offered. When they all turned to her, she added, "Dwalin told me what you said to his brother at the start of your quest: that you would take those twelve dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills, because when you called, they answered."

"And when you were ravaged by the dragon sickness, Thorin, did we not all remain with you even then?" Dwalin added softly. "If that is not proof of great loyalty, then I do not know what is."

Guilt and shame of a different sort flooded through him. Thorin then felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at the wizard, who smiled gently as he said, "You can trust them, Thorin."

He studied Gandalf's face, then those of his kin, before he nodded in acquiescence. "All right, that much is settled," Thorin said after a moment. "But who should be the escorts for our gold?"

"Balin, surely," Dwalin said. "And Nori, I would say. But no more than they, as too many from our Company traveling together would draw unwanted attention."

"I agree. As much as we'd all love to see everyone, they make the most sense," Fíli agreed. "Balin will want to know what his brother's been up to all this time, and Nori's a good source of intelligence."

Thorin nodded slowly. Balin and Nori were excellent choices, and if he were truly honest with himself, he was as eager for the company of dwarrow he knew as were his kin.

So it was that as Dwalin and Larkspur—along with Gandalf and the elves—went to take a tour of the valley to find the perfect location for their home and Fíli went to scout the furniture shops to see which he would care to apply at for work, Thorin and Kíli inquired as to the location of the owlery so they could go and speak to one of the ravens also nesting there. The largest of them was a male called Corax, and after bowing to him (as was proper on a first introduction) and receiving a bow in return, Thorin explained what they wanted him to do. Corax replied he had been rather eager to see Erebor for himself, as his grandfather had been born there at Ravenhill, and that he would be honored to deliver a message to the king of the dwarves.

It was with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation that they bid him farewell, and both Thorin and Kíli stood staring after the raven until he could no longer be seen.

"Thank you, Uncle."

Thorin turned to Kíli to find he looked…relieved. "For what?" he asked.

His nephew looked at him. "I can imagine how hard it must have been for you to agree to let others in on our little secret. Believe it or not, Fíli and I do understand that you just want to keep us safe. We are all you have left of our family, as you are all we have left."

For a moment he could not speak past the emotion that suddenly squeezed his throat, then Thorin managed, "This does not mean I am ready to shout the news of our return from the mountaintops. We will tell no one here who we really are, for they do not need to know."

An image of Rejna flashed across his mind's eye and he quickly buried it—now was not the time for _that_ nonsense.

Kíli snorted softly. "Who would believe us anyway? We've been dead near five years as far as the world knows. And even if folk accepted the truth about our return, they'd only wonder why we're here instead of in Erebor."

Thorin felt a scowl descend over his face. "No doubt they would call me coward for hiding, even though we are closer to the reason for which we do so than we would be in the Lonely Mountain."

He reached over and clasped a hand on the younger dwarf's shoulder. "When the truth does come out, folk may judge me as they see fit—I care not what they will think of me. I am doing as my Maker bid me, and I am doing what I must to see that my sister-sons are safe. That you and Fíli understand is all that matters to me."

He then leaned forward so that their brows touched, and when they parted Thorin felt joy at seeing a smile on Kíli's face.

 **-...-**

Larkspur kept up a steady stream of chatter throughout the afternoon and early evening to cover her increasing nervousness. She hated it anytime she became nervous—it happened to her so rarely, she never knew what to do with herself.

At least she knew one thing for certain: Dwalin would be happy to learn she was with child. They'd discussed the probability of their becoming parents a number of times on their journey, and each time her husband had expressed his desire for a son. A girl would also be more than welcome, he'd said, before confessing he would likely not allow any daughter of his to pick up any blade sharper than a kitchen knife.

Her worry came from two sources, the first being having to perform in front of others. Oh, she knew she didn't _have_ to, but Rejna's idea was a good one, and the song she'd thought of was really beautiful. She found herself actually _wanting_ to sing it, and had hope that revealing her condition this way might alleviate some—if not all—of her nervousness at whether or not Dwalin would be angry she'd kept him in the dark for over a month.

They were in the dining room of their inn now, and folk were drinking and eating merrily. Kíli seemed in one of his brighter moods, which was a relief to all of them. Gandalf and the elves also seemed to be enjoying themselves, with Glorfindel and Elrohir being objects of curiosity. No one—not even the dwarves they had met—had showed any animosity toward them. This was yet another worry off of everyone's mind, as though they planned to stay only a few days, at least they did not have to worry they were unwelcome.

"Until Uncle and I went to the owlery, I hadn't realized there are actually three entrances to this mountain. I'm actually rather impressed with the castle," Kíli said then, drawing Larkspur from her reverie.

"Oh, so was I!" she said. "Was it not fascinating how they have that face carved into the mountain above the balcony?"

They spoke of the residence of Dwarrowvale's royal family. It was indeed a castle, carved straight from the rock of the mountain, with a high wall boasting several towers that wrapped around a courtyard. The head of a dwarf had been hewn from the stone as well, with the mouth serving as another entrance of sorts, this one leading out onto a balcony that overlooked the yard below. Kíli revealed then that he had asked their innkeeper about the castle, and the older dwarf had explained that what they saw on the outside of the mountain was only a portion of the full residence. The dwarf whose visage overlooked the courtyard and the valley beyond was that of Tors, the king who had embraced the idea of intermarriage.

"Come to think of it," Fíli put in, "there were a lot of guards at the front of the mountain, when Princess Rejna showed us the valley. I wonder why they put their home up front instead of deeper into the mountain?"

"Accessibility, I would imagine, Master Fíli," said Elrohir. "Their status as royalty means the home is naturally heavily guarded, but perhaps they desire their people feel that they can be approached at any time about any subject."

"The princess _was_ very friendly," Larkspur said. "I rather like her very much."

As she said the words, the noise in the room fell to almost nothing and many chairs scraped the wood floor as patrons stood. Larkspur turned her head to see that Rejna had arrived, bringing with her four other dwarves that included Árni and a very pregnant lass who held on lightly to the soldier's arm.

"Lads, ladies… Don't mind me," Rejna said. "Go on as you were, I'm just here to see some new friends."

Conversations picked up again as the dwarves and men returned to their seats. Rejna and her party made their way toward their table and the hobbit could not help thinking how perfect it was that another female with child was with her. The princess winked in her direction as she approached, and Larkspur replied with a grin, hoping it was enough, for now, to let her know how much she appreciated the help.

"Good evening. How are you all finding our fine kingdom so far?" Rejna asked.

"Most impressive, Princess," said Fíli. "There are shops inside the mountain as well as out for anything and everything a dwarf could want or need."

She and her companions chuckled. "You could hardly have seen them all in one day."

"Certainly not! I'll likely be filling the next two weeks with visiting them all!" the blond dwarf said with a laugh.

"And the castle!" said Kíli. "If the inside is as incredible as the outside, I can't wait to see it!"

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Rejna told him with a grin, then turned to introduce the dwarves who were with her. Árni, of course, they knew. The lass was his wife Sindri, and the others were her brothers Solveg—who was Sindri's twin—and Jormun. The two brothers were members of the King's Guard, and it was revealed that Árni himself was more than just a soldier.

"He is the guardian of our beautiful princess," Sindri said with a smile.

"Not that she has need of one—you've all seen her fight," remarked Árni with a laugh.

"Her skills in battle are most impressive," Thorin said. "But that was a mere skirmish. I should like someday to see how she handles herself against a stronger, smarter opponent."

"Like you?" Rejna challenged. Larkspur could see she was fighting a grin.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "If you like."

Árni, Sindri, and her brothers all snickered. "Doesn't know what he's asking for, does he?" Solveg muttered.

"Indeed, brother. Poor bloke's gone and done it. You should not have baited the beast, mate," Jormun said to Thorin.

Rejna's answering smile was wide. "Come now, fellas. You know I like a good challenge. A sparring match can also be arranged, and shall be in good time."

She winked at Thorin then, before turning around and ordering Jormun to go and fetch some drinks for them as Solveg and Árni pulled two tables closer and the group joined theirs. Sindri sat next to Larkspur, who was more than happy to answer her questions about hobbits.

"Oi, Larkspur!" Rejna suddenly said. "Why don't you sing us a song, eh?"

With a start, Larkspur turned to her. The princess' nod was almost imperceptible—this was it.

"Now Princess, I know she delighted us with her lovely voice on the way here," Dwalin said, "but sadly my lady wife does not care to perform for others."

"But she has such a lovely voice—you do have a lovely voice, Madam Hobbit," Rejna said then. "I so want to hear it again."

Because her voice was carrying—on purpose, no doubt—the inn began to quiet. Larkspur could feel the many pairs of eyes on her, making her nerves dance. Oh, she was so nervous! At a glance toward the princess, she received another nod of encouragement, and then with a glance at Dwalin—seeing encouragement and even hope in his eyes—she stood.

She could do this. She could sing _one song_ in public, and her husband would know her happy secret at last.

A sudden idea popped into her head as she took a deep breath to shore herself up, and then as she began to sing, Larkspur walked around the table where her friends and kin were seated.

" _May it be an evening star shines down upon you_ ," she began, lightly touching Elrohir on the forearm. " _May it be when darkness falls, your heart will be true_." Here she gave a sweet smile to Gandalf. " _You walk a lonely road_ ," the hobbit sang, briefly pausing to give Kíli a hug about his shoulders, before moving on to Thorin and laying her hand on his. " _Oh how far you are from home_."

Larkspur continued in this way through the next lines, making sure to stop by Sindri to place a hand on her belly as she sang the words, " _A promise lives within you now_." She then moved around the next couple of tables as she sang the second verse, making sure she was again by Sindri when the line about a promise came again. As it repeated to finished out the song, here was where she had known to change but one word, and as she sang she stepped up to Dwalin and took his hand, placing it over her belly.

" _A promise lives within me now_."

Silence followed as her voice trailed off. Dwalin's eyes grew large and his mouth fell open as his gaze moved from her face to where she held his hand and back again.

"A…a bairn? We're going to have a wee bairn?" he asked.

Larkspur nodded and smiled, and now that the truth was out at last, she found herself overwhelmed with emotion. Tears slipped down her cheeks as Dwalin stood.

"You're sure? You're sure you're going to have a baby?" he asked.

She nodded again, then jumped with surprise when he threw his head back, raised his arms, and shouted in Khuzdul. Only then did the patrons in the inn erupt in cheers and applause, which grew louder when Dwalin swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

"Oi, none of that now—'tis what got you in trouble in the first place!" teased Fíli.

Larkspur laughed as they parted, and was further surprised when her husband—starting with Thorin—made a circuit around the room saying the same words in Khuzdul that he'd said before, right before head-butting every single dwarf in the place.

"What is he saying?" she asked as she finally took her seat again.

"Dwalin is expressing his surprise and joy at the news you have imparted, _Irak'nana'_ ," Thorin told her. "He is saying 'I am going to be a father'. Congratulations, Larkspur—and thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because you have brought my cousin more happiness than he had ever dared to hope for," he said.

The sincerity in his words brought a fierce blush to her cheeks and Larkspur was forced to look away from him. She was then swept up for a moment in accepting congratulations from the female patrons, including Rejna. Dwarrowvale's princess embraced her tightly and whispered in her ear, "I knew you could do it. And what a perfectly beautiful song you chose."

"I don't know that I could have done it this way had you not encouraged me. Thank you, my Lady," Larkspur replied.

"I'll have none of that now," Rejna scolded her lightly as she sat back. "We are friends, you and I. It's just Rejna."

Larkspur felt her eyes widen in surprise, but she was unable to respond as just then Dwalin returned to her; he dropped to one knee and placed his hands about her waist.

"Mahal be praised," he whispered, and when he looked up at her, she could see a thin sheen of tears. "I love you, _Kardûna_."

"And I love you, you big oaf," she replied softly, then touched her brow to his.

* * *

 **"May It Be" written by Enya.**


	39. Chapter 39

**Ten of my awesome readers left me a review for chapter 38—thank you SO MUCH to readpink, Aranel Mereneth, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, dearreader, Guest, SethadoreVGC, TimeTrekker, ThatOtherWriterGril, and Dojoson41 for the kind words! And I give humble thanks to everyone out there reading and following along in silence.**

 **Aranel - I'm glad you thought so!**

 **Guest - Thank you so much! Don't worry about waiting to review, as I have the same habit. I'm glad you took the time at all, even if you waited to catch up first. I've also been faced with having to keep my tongue when reading a story, whether I wanted to rage at the characters or shout for joy on their behalf, and I am absolutely chuffed you like my story that much!**

 **Dojoson41 - I'm so happy you're still enjoying the story!**

 **I think this might be my longest chapter so far. I do hope you enjoy!**

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 **39\. Matters of Business**

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After Rejna and her companions had departed later that evening, Dwalin whispered in Larkspur's ear that he wanted to take her to their room for a much more intimate celebration.

She agreed immediately, and while Kíli and Fíli were leading a raucous bar song they'd learned at the Green Dragon, the happy couple slipped away and headed for the stairs. Once the door was closed to their room, Dwalin wrapped his arms around her again and kissed her so deeply that it left her head spinning.

He next proceeded to carefully remove her clothing, then his own, before picking her up and carrying her to the bed. After laying her gently in the middle, the two made love for hours, with Dwalin taking the time to worship every inch of her body. The both of them were thoroughly sated by the time they fell asleep in the pre-dawn hours of morning.

Larkspur awoke sometime later to see her husband taking a tray from a maid at the door. She could smell bacon and coffee, and something else that was unfortunately turning her stomach.

When he turned around he smiled. "Good morning, my love," he said as he set the tray on the bedside table. Larkspur noted there were scones as well, with small bowls of jam and butter.

"Good morning," she replied as she sat up slowly. "What is that awful smell?"

Dwalin frowned. "You don't like the breakfast?"

"Most of it smells divine, but there's something that's making me queasy," Larkspur said with a wrinkled nose as she tucked the sheet under her arms.

When he lifted the cover from the tray, the smell of warm food wafted toward her, and she knew instantly which of them it was. "Ugh, hurry up and eat those eggs, please!"

"But you love scrambled eggs! That's why I ordered them."

Holding a hand under her nose, she shook her head. "Not today."

With a shake of his head, Dwalin scraped the eggs from her plate onto his. Then after serving her he made quick work of eating them, at which she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. The further I get into this pregnancy, the more certain scents seem to bother me," she told him.

"How long have you got to go? I don't know that we ever really discussed the terms of hobbits and dwarves," Dwalin said.

"A hobbit lass normally carries eight months. Princess Rejna said yesterday that dwarrow dams carry ten. But she thinks I'm like to go somewhere in between, as the ladies here who have had mixed children tend to do that."

She looked down at her plate then, knowing that the next words out of her mouth were going to upset him. "This means you have anywhere from six to eight months to get our house built."

From under her lowered lids, Larkspur watched as he mentally did the math; his eyes widened when he worked out when she had likely conceived.

"Do you mean to say you're already two months along? How long have you known about the bairn?" Dwalin asked.

"I began to suspect when I missed my first bleed," she replied. "And with the changes my body's gone through in the last several weeks…"

Dwalin took the plate she held from her and set it on the tray, then took her chin in hand and lifted so that their eyes met. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I knew how worried about me you'd be, and I didn't want you to smother me," she replied frankly. "You've been so bloody overprotective from the moment we set out from the Shire, you didn't want me learning to fight—"

"Speaking of, how could you put yourself at risk when there's a life inside you?! I knew I should never have allowed you to learn!"

At that she took his chin, and not in a gentle hand. Her expression hardened as she said, "Just because you are my husband, Dwalin, does not mean you own me as though I were a piece of property. You do not _allow_ me to do things or not, I will do whatever I like. And I should think you would know me well enough to know that I'd never take an unnecessary risk with my life, let alone that of our child."

She released him then and reached for her plate. "Besides, don't think I'm unaware you told Gandalf to take it easy on me."

After a moment of silence, Dwalin loosed a ragged breath. "Have I truly been so unbearable?"

"I haven't sought to divorce you yet, so you've some redeeming qualities," Larkspur teased. She then set her fork down and reached for his hand. "I do appreciate that you love me so deeply, that your only desire is to see me protected from all harm. But you must understand that you cannot keep me so bound that I am not allowed to live my life the way I see fit. I don't want to become so frightened of every shadow that I fear to even leave the house. Would you truly wish me to change that much?"

"Absolutely not," he replied, and leaned forward to kiss her softly. "Your vibrant spirit is the first thing about you I fell in love with."

They ate quietly for a few moments before Larkspur spoke again, saying, "Even before I began to suspect I had conceived, Dwalin, I knew I wanted to learn to fight. Though I know you will make every effort possible, you'll simply not be able to spend every single moment of your life with me. I knew from the beginning that the wilds were not the Shire, that Dwarrowvale would not be the Shire."

Dwalin scoffed lightly. "There is no place in Middle-earth as quaint and peaceful, except perhaps that bloody Elvish valley whence Elrohir is from."

"Be that as it may, my love," she went on, "I know that in the far corners of your heart where you held out hope you would find your One, you always expected she would be a dwarf. And from all the stories I heard during your time in the Shire, I gathered dwarrow females are as fierce as any warrior. They know how to take care of themselves without the aid of a male, and not a single one is a burden to those around her."

When her husband opened his mouth, likely to protest, Larkspur hushed him by putting a finger to his lips. "Allow me to finish, please." Dwalin sighed and nodded, and she lowered her hand. "I swore to myself I would never give you any reason to regret accepting that your maker's choice for you was not a lass of your own kind. That I would do my share of the work in every effort and would prove I am not a burden."

She took one of his hands and laid it across her belly as she had the night before, briefly noting that she would begin to show her condition in just a few weeks' time. "Dwalin, you will not be with me every single moment. And now that we've a child coming, a life more important and precious than my own, I refuse to be defenseless and unable to protect that life."

For a moment he only studied her face, and then Dwalin smiled. " _Kardûna_ , you may not be a dwarf by blood, but I have no doubt the Lady Yavanna graced you with a dwarrow heart."

He then took her plate from her again, set it next to his own on the tray, and kept her in bed for the rest of the morning.

 **-...-**

It was but a few days after their arrival that the four dwarves and Larkspur said goodbye to their traveling companions. The hobbit made sure to write a lengthy letter to her father and one to Bilbo for Elrohir to give to her cousin in Rivendell, as he would arrive there for his yearly visit not long before the son of Elrond and Glorfindel returned. She said she'd have sent them to the Shire by owl but as hobbits did not use birds in that fashion, she didn't want to startle her father or brothers by having one suddenly flying in through an open window. It would take a little longer for her father's letter to reach him this way, but the getting there was all that mattered.

Gandalf, though still not entirely sure he had done all he was supposed to do, nevertheless departed for Minas Tirith on the same day that Glorfindel and Elrohir left for Rivendell. He said he had some business to do there with the Steward of Gondor, and it could no longer be delayed. Thorin had ridden with him to the end of the valley where the arms of the mountains opened up and said a heartfelt goodbye. The wizard assured him they would likely see each other again, which the dwarf did not doubt in the least.

Still, it was a sobering moment to realize that they were once again truly on their own. It was time, he figured, to dive deep into whatever destiny there was for him here.

As he stabled his pony upon his return, he glanced across the valley toward the land Dwalin had purchased for his new home. Miraculously there had been a fairly sizeable plot available right up against the side of the mountain outside of the east entrance, in a little crook that was within sight of the River Ringlo. What had attracted Dwalin to it, besides the view of the valley and the river itself, was a small outcropping he'd said he planned to carve out and make into a shaded nook on top of the house. He would build a staircase that would allow the top of the mound to be easily reached, and planned to put a small table and a couple of chairs up there in the nook, that his wife would be able to entertain guests in good weather. And of course, once the house itself was complete, he intended to cover it with a thick layer of dirt to be topped by sod, that Larkspur could grow flowers or herbs or whatever she liked on her home, as she could have done in the Shire.

Thorin could not help being amused by how eager Dwalin was to start the building—he only waited now for the wood to finish processing at the mill. Considering how much land they would own, he thought it might be a good idea to build their own stable there, if Dwalin and Larkspur were amenable to the idea. It would certainly save them all a considerable amount of money on boarding fees.

Bahûna barked suddenly, drawing Thorin from his musings. He looked to see that Árni, Princess Rejna's bodyguard, was coming toward him.

"Greetings, Master Thorin. I was told I might find you here," the other dwarf said.

After giving Narag a pat on the nose, Thorin fished an apple from his pocket and held it up for the pony to eat before he said, "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I was dispatched by Her Highness to invite you and your kinsmen to the castle for a tour," Árni replied. "Though I know Madam Larkspur is already with my wife and her friends talking of babies and has seen much of it, the princess was reminded that young Master Kíli had also expressed an interest the other night, and so suggested you might all join her there—she said she would guide you personally."

Thorin thought for a moment as to where everyone was. Kíli and Fíli had gone with the elves to the back tunnel this morning, as Rejna had already given Elrohir and Glorfindel—as well as Gandalf, ere he'd revealed his plan to ride to Minas Tirith—leave to return north that way. They would not be back to the inn until the end of the week, as his nephews had declared they would accompany their Elvish friends all the way to the door before they said their goodbyes.

Solveg had come to the inn that morning with the invitation for Larkspur from his sister, Sindri having indeed invited her to spend the morning with her. Apparently Árni's wife had become quite popular among her circle of friends for having met "the hobbit lass everyone's talking about" and thought she would enjoy educating "the most talkative bunch in all of Dwarrowvale" as to what hobbits were like and how they lived. The information was like to get around faster that way, which Solveg had confirmed with a laugh, thereby allowing the hobbit to live in relative peace.

Larkspur had been thoroughly delighted by the invitation and accepted immediately; she was so happy to have already made friends and hoped that the ladies Sindri spoke of would be as accepting of her as she and the princess had. Dwalin was happy for her that she had met some friendly females in so short an amount of time, and had seemed much more relieved in his worry that she would find herself lonely. As for Dwalin himself, Thorin knew he was at the mill if he were not at the inn or with Larkspur, helping cut the wood for the floor or framing of his house in order to speed the process along.

The thought that he would quite possibly be alone with Rejna—if he accepted—sent heat rushing through Thorin. He hated that he wanted so much to see her again, as despite all his efforts to remove the princess from his thoughts she was never far from them. He'd refused to acknowledge how immensely relieved he'd been to learn that Árni was married. It did not mean that Rejna was not still spoken for, but at least her bodyguard was one less dwarrow he had to compete with.

Not that he planned on competing with any of them, he reminded himself firmly. Clearing his throat, Thorin replied, "Presently all of my kinsmen are occupied elsewhere. I would be amenable to waiting for another opportunity for the tour if their presence is required."

 _Liar!_ his inner voice screamed. _You can't wait to get her all to yourself_. _The boys are as single as you are, do not forget. Would you have her choose one of them?_

It was all Thorin could do not to growl aloud at the voice. It had been taunting him alongside every thought he'd had of Rejna over the last three days.

"I do not think my Lady will object to having just your good self to entertain, sir," Árni said. He then snorted. "Though Lord Hagen might."

Thorin raised an eyebrow, at which the soldier laughed. "Forgive me, Master Thorin. I should not have spoken."

"Though as you have, I can now not help being curious as to your meaning."

He watched the other dwarf as he fought and failed to contain a smile. "I do not wish to speak out of turn, but… Just ask her who Lord Hagen is. I've no doubt she'll be more than happy to tell you."

"Perhaps I shall," Thorin said. _Was this Hagen fellow after Rejna?_ he wondered, feeling an unwanted surge of possessiveness.

Árni gestured for Thorin to walk with him, and they started for the castle. Bahûna trotted along on Thorin's right, her tongue hanging out to the side, until a squirrel darted across their path. She immediately gave chase, yipping madly at the little rodent as it ran up a tree. Silently thanking the only female he wanted in his life for the distraction, Thorin called to her.

At first the pup ignored him and scratched at the tree trunk as though it would get the squirrel to come back down. "Bahûna, come back here," he said again, his voice firmer. With a last look up into the tree, the black she-wolf aimed a snarling bark at her escaped quarry and did as she was told.

"I am still amazed by the control you have over her—that you all have," Árni said as Bahûna returned to Thorin's side and the three continued. "The white one was with Madam Larkspur when Solveg escorted her to my chambers this morning."

"Asrân was the first pup Larkspur pulled from their mother's womb," Thorin told him. "Hers was the first face he saw, her voice the first he heard. Somehow, I think even had Gandalf not ensured they would obey us, he would follow her every command. That wolf adores his mistress."

"As yours does you, I imagine, though one would think that a female would be more inclined to attach herself to another female," Árni observed as they passed through the heavily guarded (six armored dwarves with axes and war hammers stood to either side) castle gate.

Thorin did not answer right away, as his attention was focused on his surroundings. There were guards along the top of the walls as there had been at the gate, and though the yard itself was mostly paved with stone there were beds strategically set throughout in which flowers, trees, and shrubs grew to lend the place some color. On the outside of the castle wall, to each side of the gate, had hung a black and white banner emblazoned with the sigil of the Blacklock clan—there were more of them here, lightly fluttering in the breeze.

He recalled suddenly the vision Elrond had had in Dwalin's presence when the warrior had gone to Rivendell to seek aid for Fíli's broken arm; his cousin had told him the elf lord had seen him, Fíli, and Kíli standing in a courtyard of stone made by their kin. Could this be the place? If so, what was their purpose for being there?

Dismissing his curiosity for the time being, he and Bahûna followed Árni into the residence, where there were, naturally, more guards. A few servants were about performing cleaning duties as they walked up a grand staircase, and many an eye was turned toward the wolf. Thorin heard more than one—he noticed there were a few daughters of Men among the maids—muttering their amazement that the "wild animal behaves so well".

Rejna's bodyguard led him down one hall and then another before coming to a stop outside a set of double doors, where they found Solveg and Jormun standing guard.

"Is Her Highness inside?" Árni asked.

Solveg nodded. "Aye, Captain. She is with King Ragin and Lord Hagen, sir."

Árni grimaced. "Damn. I'd hoped to return before he arrived. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now except to help her escape."

Thorin's curiosity skyrocketed at the exchange. Just who was this Lord Hagen and why would Rejna wish to escape him? Was he after her hand in marriage?

The thought angered him—he knew it should not, but it did. He felt again the surge of propriety—that she was _his_ , even though she was not. Even though he kept telling himself he did not want her.

Tempering his anger—though only a little—was his surprise that the three soldiers discussed their princess with such ease and familiarity. Thorin had seen how friendly they were with her when they'd accompanied her to the inn the other night, and now he was certain that these three men were all more than bodyguards to Rejna and her father—they were the princess' close friends.

He swallowed against the jealousy that flashed through him. _Damn this pointless obsession to the Void!_ he thought savagely, schooling his features to a neutral mask as Árni gestured to Solveg and the other dwarf knocked on one of the doors.

"Come," said a deep male voice on the other side.

The three soldiers visibly drew breaths as Jormun opened one of the doors. "Wait here a moment," Árni said.

Thorin nodded, then the other dwarrow stepped across the threshold. "Bahûna, stay," he ordered the she-wolf as she made to follow.

"Forgive my intrusion, Majesty, but Princess Rejna's guest has arrived. She bid me inform her straight away," he heard Árni say.

A chair scraped on the floor. "Oh, I'd quite forgotten!" came Rejna's voice. "Do bring him in— _Adad_ , I do wish so much for you to meet him."

Árni, who stood just inside the doors, turned and gestured for Thorin to enter as the first voice said, "Is that so?" He stopped when he came to Árni's side, but it took all the will he had to go no further at the sight that met his eyes.

Rejna wore a luxurious gown of red and gold cloth adorned with jewels that twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Her glossy black hair was braided into an elaborate style with metal beads and gemstones woven in that would have had Dís determined to copy it had she seen the work of art that it was—his sister had loved to impress upon their people that they might have been living in exile, but they were still royalty.

"Master Thorin, I'm so delighted to see you again," Rejna said then, and Thorin was suddenly reminded he needed to breathe.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Highness," he managed, just barely remembering to bow his head.

"Ah! I see another of your little lupine friends is with you," the princess said then, at the same time one of the male dwarves at the table suddenly stood and shouted.

"What the devil is that beast doing in the palace? Get it out of here!"

Thorin frowned, and he felt a great desire to cross the room and punch the pompous bastard.

Rejna turned to face him. "My Lord Hagen, Master Thorin's companion goes where he does. She is welcome here, as are her brothers."

"My Princess, wild animals are _not_ pets! What if that thing bites someone?"

"Bahûna," Thorin snapped as his frown became a scowl.

Hagen narrowed his eyes at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Her name is Bahûna. She and her brothers were bespelled by the wizard Gandalf the Gray to obey the commands of their masters, but even had they not been, Bahûna, Asrân, and Thafar are already quite loyal to us. They will not bite you unless we are threatened…or they are told to do so."

"Are you threatening me, boy?"

Being called "boy" at his age nearly made Thorin laugh. He already didn't like the dwarf he stared at for whatever his interest was in Rejna—now that he'd been insulted by him, he began to truly despise him.

"Certainly not. I am merely informing you as to Bahûna's personality, that you do not fear her or her kin should you see them," he said, recalling his lessons in politics in order to maintain a civil tone of voice.

The large dwarf still seated—who was dressed as regally as Rejna, if not more so—looked to the princess and said, " _Nâthaê_ , perhaps you should introduce your friend to us."

Rejna nodded and gestured for him to come closer. Thorin did so wordlessly as she said, " _Adad_ , may I introduce Thorin, son of…"

She looked to him. "Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten your father's name."

His father's name had never been given. When asked by Gandalf if the three who had been reborn intended to use aliases, Thorin had replied in the negative. He said that enough had been sacrificed on their part—he would not force his sister-sons to forfeit their identities as well. Thus, a plan had been conceived that when at last they met with any dwarves, Larkspur, one of the elves, or the wizard would introduce them, giving only their names.

Of course, he'd known at some point that he'd have to give a name for his father. His nephews could still be introduced as "son of Síli" as it was unlikely their father's name was well known. But he could not use the name of his true father if he wanted to keep his own identity a secret.

 _Forgive me, Father, for the lie I must tell_ , he pleaded silently, before raising his hand to his heart and saying as he bowed his head again, "I am Thorin, son of Targo, at your service, Your Majesty."

King Ragin chuckled softly. "Are they still saying that up north?" he asked.

Thorin straightened to see that Rejna was smiling—damn, she had a beautiful smile.

Blinking, he looked to her father. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

"First, allow me to introduce my father, His Majesty Ragin, son of Dargin, King of Dwarrowvale," Rejna said. "With us is Hagen, son of Halfor, Lord of Eastfell."

He recalled now the discussion on their walk through the mountain about how Dwarrowvale was ordered. There were, in fact, three large settlements within the mountains themselves: Eastfell was located in the eastern arm of their semi-circle of the range, the original Dwarrowvale settlement in the "top", and Westrock was, naturally, in the western arm. Then there was the settlement in the valley, which had come to be known as just that—the Valley. Each of the three settlements had a nobleman as Lord who oversaw the people fairly independently with the king looking to matters in the capital, with the lords and their deputies often meeting with King Ragin to discuss matters that affected the kingdom as a whole and to give progress reports on such matters as employment and population.

Then as now Thorin could not help some amusement at the simple names Men had given their settlements because their Khuzdul names were allegedly so "difficult" to pronounce.

Rejna turned back to him then and said, "Perhaps you've missed it, Master Thorin, as you've only been in our lands a few days, but in Dwarrowvale we do not say 'at your service'—we haven't in about four hundred years. Here the formal greeting is 'here to serve you'."

He could not help but return her smile. "I will endeavor to remember that in days to come."

"Why is he here?" Hagen demanded. "Rejna, I am certain you were notified in advance of this meeting."

"Lord Hagen, do remember your manners when addressing me—I _am_ the Crown Princess," Rejna rebuked the older dwarf, her tone just shy of sharp. "And yes, I was notified by my Lord Father—however, I had honestly forgotten that I had invited Master Thorin and his kin, who are new to our kingdom, to come for a tour of the castle. Master Kíli and Madam Larkspur told me they were quite fascinated by it, especially the visage of King Tors over the balcony."

"Can you not have one of the servants guide their tour, my Lady? You know of the importance of what we are here to discuss," Hagen pressed.

Thorin was stunned that he continued to be so rude to the princess, especially as they were standing in her father's presence. A flick of his eyes showed him, much to his surprise, a hint of amusement on the king's face.

 _He's enjoying the show_ , he thought, and had to grind his teeth to hold in the laughter that suddenly wanted to burst forth.

"Certainly I could, but would it not be both rude and a disservice to offer my personal services as guide around my home only to pass off the duty to another? What would they think of our hospitality?"

Turning to her father then, she said, "I do beg your forgiveness, _Adad_ , that I mixed up my appointments so terribly. May I go and fulfill my duty as hostess, or is it your wish that I direct one of the servants to do so? I will abide by your decision."

For a moment, Ragin studied his daughter. Then Thorin noted _he_ was being studied, and he lifted his chin to meet the other man's gaze. He was not ashamed of the fact that he scrutinized the king in turn. He seemed hearty and hale, but his hair and elaborately decorated beard were very gray, with little of the shiny black his clan was known for remaining. It occurred to him that the dwarrow was not only older than he, but possibly nearing the end of his life.

Thorin's heart squeezed in empathy for the princess.

"You may go, daughter. As you are well aware of what Lord Hagen desires to discuss with me, you can be assured I will inform you of the details later," Ragin said at last. "If you issued an invitation to personally serve as guide to Master Thorin and his kin, it would be a dishonor to go back on your word."

"Indeed. Thank you, Father. Good day, Lord Hagen," Rejna said, her tone polite, though when she turned away from the two leaders, she looked at Thorin and winked.

Mahal's hammer, if that didn't make him sweat just a little.

He was not remiss to the scowl Hagen directed at him as he was bowing respectfully to the king, before he turned to follow Rejna out. Thorin had no care for the elder dwarf's apparent dislike of him and did not openly acknowledge it. He merely commanded Bahûna to follow and the two fell into step behind the princess, with Árni taking up the rear.

When the door was closed again behind them, Rejna paused and, her hands fisted at her sides, tipped her head back and growled softly.

" _Targ Durinul_ , I am so _sick_ of high-minded highborn males who think they know what's best for my future," she said, before whirling to face Thorin with a wide smile. "Thank you so much for your timely arrival, Master Thorin. I am aware that Madam Larkspur is already in the castle visiting with Sindri, but may I ask where are your nephews and Lord Commander Dwalin?"

Thorin started—he'd been pleased one instant at her gratitude, only to be disappointed in the next that she'd asked after the others.

Clearing his throat, he replied, "Our companions chose this morning to depart. As you granted Glorfindel and Elrohir leave to take the north tunnel, Fíli and Kíli have gone with them to see them off. Dwalin, I suspect, has been at the mill all morning helping process the wood he needs for his and Larkspur's home. He is quite eager to see it built, now that we know a child is coming."

"I don't doubt that," she observed, then surprised him by stepping to his left side and taking his arm. "Now come, let me be the honorable hostess I proclaimed I should be and allow me to give you the grand tour."

He could only swallow and nod, and allow her to lead him away. Though he wore a light jacket over his tunic, where she held his arm he could feel his skin burning.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Nâthaê_ – My daughter (from "nâtha" - daughter, and "-ê" - possessive suffix for "my")

 _Targ Durinul_ – Durin's Beard


	40. Chapter 40

**Robinbird79, readergirl4985, readpink, dearreader, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Aashi... Thank you all so much. Every time I see a new review posted, it makes my day. And I do also appreciate everyone who reads along quietly - just the fact that you are reading the story pleases me to no end.**

 **dearreader - Thorin is floating in a river of denial, isn't he? lol The silly dwarf is being foolish to not realize that part of his new destiny is a certain dwarf princess.**

 **Aashi - Thorin is definitely smitten. Now if he'd just accept what's meant to be! And thank you. With so many different characters in this one (much different than my first story, where there were only two main characters), I work hard at making sure the jump from one POV to the next is an easy one.**

* * *

 **40\. Acknowledgement**

* * *

She was such a fool—she should _not_ have touched him.

There were a number of reasons, not the least of which was that behavioral customs forbade physical contact between males and females who were not related by blood or marriage—though healers were an exception due to the requirements of their duties. Of course, custom _also_ forbid an unwed female to be alone in the presence of unwed males without a chaperone, and daughters of the royal house were not allowed to join the army because propagation of the lineage fell to them should the male heirs die in battle.

Rejna was fully aware that her father had made an exception in her case because she was his only child and heir. Publicly, he claimed her argument that as future queen it was her duty to be able to defend her people was sound. Privately, she knew, he hoped that she would give up the warrior life once she married in order to care for her children.

Maybe it was an instinct born of the connection she could no longer deny that had driven her to take Thorin's arm. For the last three days—five, really, from the moment they'd met—nearly every waking thought had been consumed by the son of Targo. She had learned so much during their trek through the mountain, but felt that she knew him so little. She wanted—no, _needed_ —to know more. In spite of still feeling as though she was not yet ready for her life to be up-ended by taking a mate, touching Thorin had set her skin on fire. The signs could not be ignored any longer.

Two thoughts had flashed across her consciousness the moment she curled her fingers around Thorin's muscled bicep. First was that he smelled _divine_ —a mixture of leather, soap, pony, and male. The other was that she was in deep trouble.

What in the world was she to do? Rejna did not think she could stop there in the middle of the hall and declare to a virtual stranger that he was her One—Thorin would probably think her mad! And though he was _very_ handsome (despite there being no real length to his beard), it had taken only one appraisal on her part to determine that he was much older than she—quite possibly by a full hundred years. She knew that dwarrow males who had reached their third century without finding their One or choosing to mate regardless considered themselves beyond eligibility for marriage and fatherhood, and were content to live the rest of their lives without either.

All these worries screamed through her mind, one after the other, nearly breaking her concentration on the task at hand. With Árni trailing silently behind, Rejna just barely managed to keep up a continuous stream of dialogue as she guided Thorin around. She showed him the ballroom, dining rooms, gallery, library, throne room, and every other room that might be of interest. It was not lost on her that she could not keep him occupied the rest of the day, but the need to be near him was almost overwhelming, and she knew she would do whatever she could to extend his visit.

A bell began to chime, causing Rejna to gasp. She whirled to Árni as she said, "It cannot be twelve bells already!"

"I am afraid it is, Your Highness," her bodyguard replied. "Is it still your intention to lunch with the ladies?"

She glanced at Thorin and saw what might have been disappointment flash through his eyes. But then she thought not—she was most likely seeing only her own desire to stay with him reflected back at her.

"I… I am afraid that I gave my word to Sindri I would join her and her friends for luncheon, Master Thorin," she said slowly.

He drew a breath. "It is quite all right, my Lady. Do not let me keep you from your friends."

Rejna was torn. She had an obligation to her friends but she didn't want him to go just yet.

"Why don't you join us?" she asked suddenly.

Thorin blinked in surprise. "I am honored you would ask, Princess, but I would not be the cause of your lady friends' disappointment—I imagine that you all mean to discuss matters which are not meant for the ears of males."

Árni coughed to cover up the start of a laugh. She scowled at her bodyguard, but was forced to admit Thorin had a point. Because as a general in the army she spent so much of her time with males, she'd made it a standing appointment to have lunch once a month with her female friends to eat, laugh, and catch up on the latest gossip. Sometimes the get-together was dinner instead.

"You make a good point," she conceded with a forced laugh. "Though now I've something new to discuss with the girls."

An amused grin teased at the corners of his mouth—which she should definitely not keep looking at lest she kiss him right in front of Árni and give her bodyguard a heart attack.

"Pray tell, what might that be?" Thorin asked.

Rejna smiled then, and utterly unable to resist the urge, she lifted a hand to his cheek to give it what she _hoped_ appeared to be a teasing pat, "Oh, my dear Master Thorin… Wouldn't you just love to know?"

Fire seared across her palm where it made contact with his skin, and her breath caught. For a moment their gazes held, and it was only a not-too-subtle clearing of Árni's throat that broke the spell.

Tearing her eyes from the pools of crystal blue that were Thorin's, the princess leaned down and held out her hand to Bahûna. The wolf pup sniffed it, then licked her palm before nosing her fingers. It was not hard to figure out what she wanted, so Rejna gave her a good scratch around the ears.

Standing straight, she dared to glance at Thorin again and gave a soft smile. "I do hope the tour wasn't entirely boring."

"With such a lovely hostess, I…" He cleared his throat. "I mean to say that I was not in the least bored. The palace is a marvel of Dwarven architecture, though I am hardly surprised given what I have seen of the mountain itself."

He thought her lovely? Did he really?! Elation swelled within her—from the way he had stuttered, there could be no doubt the compliment was genuine. Perhaps he'd not wanted to seem improper, especially in front of a witness.

Her smile brightened. "Well, as much as it pains me to take leave of your most excellent company, sir, I'm afraid I must go," she said. "I do hope I will get to visit with you again soon."

Thorin smiled. "May the opportunity soon present itself."

"Árni will have to show you the way out alone. I am already tardy," Rejna said then and took a step back. Moving away from Thorin was taking more effort than she'd imagined it would.

"Thank you for the tour, Princess. I do hope the rest of your day is as pleasant as your company has been," he replied with a bow of his head.

"The same to you, sir."

It took all the will she could muster for Rejna to turn and walk away.

 **-...-**

It was not until they were out of the palace doors and moving down the steps that Thorin found himself able to breathe properly. And even then his chest ached.

Rejna had touched him. Not only did she take his arm, but she had touched his cheek. His skin tingled with the memory of her soft hand. It was a breach of custom, he knew, but she had not seemed to care. Árni had raised an appraising eyebrow, but said nothing.

Halfway across the courtyard, he recalled that they had helped her "escape" a meeting with her father and Lord Hagen. Thorin had hoped to learn what that was about but had been so distracted by her body being so close to his own that he'd forgotten to ask.

Pausing, he turned to Árni. "May I ask why Princess Rejna would desire to escape a prearranged meeting with the king and Lord Hagen?"

The bodyguard lifted his brow again, searched his countenance with a scrutinizing gaze, then said, "First, you must understand that Rejna takes her role as heir to the throne very seriously. She is fully aware that in order to secure her claim, she must one day marry and produce an heir of her own. But she's not quite ready to do that as she knows she'll be expected to give up her place in the army. The princess is a most excellent soldier, and the regiments respect her enormously."

"I have seen her in action, their admiration is well placed," Thorin observed.

"Do you recall her saying the night we entered the north tunnel that King Dáin of Erebor desires she marry his son?" Árni asked.

Thorin nodded, fighting to contain a rush of jealousy as he did so.

"I do not know the dwarrow well, but from what I observed of him during our too-brief stay in the north four years ago, he seems a decent fellow. I've not much doubt that he is more interested in expanding his influence than he is in acquiring more power."

That sounded very much like Dáin, Thorin mused. He'd want to have another ally on hand in order to keep the other dwarf lords, who tended to argue amongst themselves, toeing the line. Dwarrowvale might not be well known, but from what he had seen they had people and a prosperous community here. Having a hand on a kingdom that was already thriving, like the Iron Hills was, would be another feather in his cousin's proverbial cap.

"The thing is, Dáin is not the only one with his eye on our throne," Árni continued. " _Khazad-dubanu_ was founded by Blacklocks, and always has a Blacklock been king. But sadly, King Ragin and the late Queen Helga did not have a son. They had a daughter. And I'm sure that we are not so different from the northern kingdoms in that females are not exactly favored to inherit. A throne may be passed to a female heir only if there is no male relative to receive it, and then only if she is wed to a dwarf of noble blood."

"So that her husband may rule by proxy, making her hardly more than a figurehead," Thorin said. It was true—that was precisely how things worked among the clans in the north. As he had said to Bard, the role of queen was largely ceremonial.

"I surmise that Her Highness not only has no desire to be forced into marriage, but has no intention of only sitting pretty by her husband's side, there to produce heirs, entertain the other dams, and little else," he queried.

Árni's expression was grim, but he nodded in the affirmative. "Lord Hagen is a Stiffbeard. Rumor has it he thinks it's long past time for a changing of the guard. He desires to see his son wed to the princess that he can secure the throne for his own heirs in years to come."

Jealousy and anger as hot as the forges of Erebor flared painfully in Thorin's chest. He swallowed heavily and drew a steadying breath through his nose, lest he scowl too darkly and give away his tortured emotional state. Rejna having touched him would make the signs that much harder to ignore and his reaction to her harder to contain.

Mahal's balls, he did _not_ want this! He was too bloody old for her, well past his prime. Was he still capable of siring sons? Of that he was certain. Dwarf males were allegedly virile enough right up until their dying day, should they even have the desire or energy to engage in intercourse and a mate still capable of bearing children. But damn it, Rejna was still so very _young_. She potentially had up to 200 more years to live—it would be grievously unfair to her to be wed to someone like him, who was likely to live less than half as long as that.

Not to mention how monumentally unfair it was to _him_ to have this happen now, when he maybe had fifty years ahead of him before he would be called back to the Great Forge.

"Well," he managed after a moment, "I do not doubt that Her Highness will have her way. She reminds me very much of a determined dam I once knew who refused to let any male dictate how she would live her life."

"Let us hope you are right," Árni replied.

Thorin glanced toward the palace, then back to Árni. "Thank you for explaining. I do hope I have not asked you to betray a confidence."

"If it were, I would have said nothing. As it is, knowing Lord Hagen as I do, his intentions will be made public before long in an effort to force the princess' hand."

A derisive snort escaped him before he could stop it. "I would offer my assistance if I could, though I do not know what a blacksmith with whom she is little acquainted can do for her."

Árni's gaze was appraising again. "Are you certain of that?"

Thorin said nothing, and when the question had gone unanswered for more than a minute, Árni shook his head and said, "At risk of overstepping my bounds, sir, I am not blind. Having met and married my One, I know the signs. Rejna is as a sister to me, and I would far rather see her wed to a humble blacksmith whom Mahal chose for her than a dwarrow she does not love simply because he was born of noble blood."

Thorin stifled the laugh that bubbled in his throat—if only Árni knew he was speaking to Durin's heir… But he did not, and he never could, not if he wanted to keep Fíli and Kíli safe.

Frustration bloomed in his mind then. So tired was he already of the secrecy, and they had not even been here a week. He hoped that soon the feeling would pass to the point that he would think little of the fact that he was lying about who he was.

With a deep sigh, he looked to Árni with a sympathetic expression. "Blind you may not be, but mistaken you surely are, Captain. I am nearly 200 years old and my eyes tell me the princess is little more than half that in age. It would behoove our Maker to choose someone closer to her age, whose youth and vitality would match her own."

 _Are you listening?_ he added silently. _She deserves better_.

 _Who is better for her than the king?_ Thorin was surprised by the reply—he had not heard Mahal's voice in many months.

 _I am not the king, remember?_ he retorted, then said aloud to Árni, "Again I thank you. Good day to you, Captain."

Turning away, he gestured to Bahûna and headed for the gate. Thorin was unaware that Árni remained standing there watching, nor did he see him look to the heavens and say, "My Lord, we have our work cut out for us with that one."

 **-...-**

Her maid was helping her undo the many braids that had been woven into her hair that morning when they heard a knock at the door to her rooms.

"See who that is, Telka," Rejna said as she pulled a diamond from her hair.

The maid nodded and turned to do as told. The princess shook her head as she pulled another gemstone from her raven tresses, thinking not for the first time—and probably not the last—how utterly ridiculous it was to be wearing jewels in her hair for show. That's what her dress and hair today had been for, her father having talked her into "appearing royal" even though he knew perfectly well she was more comfortable in the simple dresses of her friends or her armor.

And what had been the point? To give Hagen something to aim for or to remind him of what he could not have? Her father had indeed told her of the Eastfell lord's interest in wedding her to Halvar, and she'd in turn made it perfectly clear she had no intention of doing so. She had no interest in marrying Thorin Stonehelm, either. Already she had told her father that she would wait for Mahal's choice for her or she would not marry at all. Of course, that had prompted her father to remind her that if she did not marry and conceive an heir, the throne would pass to his cousin, who was Lord of Westrock.

Rejna knew she did not have to wait any longer. Mahal's blessing had been in the castle that very morning. An innocent remark by Larkspur at lunch, asking Sindri how she'd known Árni was her One, had gotten her thinking. Sindri had replied that her husband claimed it was their first kiss that had confirmed it for him—which Larkspur said was exactly what Dwalin had told her—but that she had known even before that.

" _One touch, one deep draw of breath that seared his scent into my memory for all time, Madam Larkspur—that was when I knew he was mine_."

Hearing her friend speak those words, she had known. It was exactly how she had felt just minutes before joining the ladies for lunch. But oh, what to _do_ about it!

Telka returned then and said, "My Lady, His Majesty has come to see you."

Her father would not want to be kept waiting, so she directed her maid to help her wrap her hair in a scarf, then she donned a robe and walked out to the sitting room. Her father stood by the fireplace, his pipe in his mouth, and he appraised her as she walked across the room to kiss his cheek.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked.

Ragin chuckled. "Need I a reason to spend time with my only child?"

"No, but lately you have always had a purpose, _Adad_. Come and sit. I'll have Telka bring us some tea."

"A brandy for me, thank you," her father said as they moved to the couch. Once the maid had been sent off for their drinks, he turned to her.

"You are right—I do have a reason for desiring to speak with you, my dear. First, as you know, Lord Hagen is of the mind that you and Halvar should marry."

Rejna snorted. "Father, you already know my feeling on this matter. I've no desire to enter into what amounts to an arranged marriage. Am I not to be given a choice in the matter?"

"Of course you are," Ragin replied. "But your spouse must be of noble blood for you to secure your claim to the throne, _Nâtha_ , and at present your choices are few. Young Hakon is too close a blood relative—"

"Not to mention he's hardly more than a child," she said with a snort.

"—and Lord Tryg had only daughters himself," her father went on. "Your options are to marry Halvar or a nobledwarf from one of the northern kingdoms. Dáin is High King and Stonehelm his heir—theirs would be a powerful family indeed to marry into, sweetheart."

She was saved, for a moment, from replying by the return of the maid. Telka handed her father a snifter of brandy and herself a steaming mug of tea before dipping into a curtsey and disappearing again.

Rejna sipped her tea, trying to gather her thoughts. With every dwarf her father had mentioned she felt her spirit cry out in resistance—she had met her One, and so could marry no other.

"I've no desire to marry for power or wealth, _Adad_ , you know that," she said after a moment. "Dwarrowvale is kingdom enough for me."

"Be that as it may, I fear you will soon be forced to make a decision. Dáin will not wait forever for your answer and neither will Hagen."

"What if the choice is already made?"

Ragin blinked, then a brow rose. "Have you something to tell me, Rejna? Perhaps something to do with that Thorin fellow who came to tour the palace today?"

Heat rose up her neck and she felt a blush blooming on her cheeks. Rejna found she could no longer look her father in the eye and dropped her gaze to the cup in her hands. "I… I believe he is my One, Father."

"Have you kissed him?"

Her head snapped up. "No! Of course not—I barely know him!"

Ragin chuckled. "I can hardly believe I am about to say this to my only daughter, but you may have to in order to be sure. It is in the first kiss that we know if the flame is in fact the eternal fire."

She couldn't help it, she had to laugh. "We were just talking of this at lunch, the girls and I," she said between chuckles. "It seems common that males wait until the first kiss to be certain. We ladies know sooner."

"Do you now? Then pray tell, _Nâtha_ , how is it females are so sure they have met their One?"

Her face felt hot again and she looked toward the unlit fireplace. "It takes but a touch and being near enough to breathe him in," she said softly. "No scent has ever been sweeter."

She was speaking metaphorically, of course, as Thorin had smelled anything but sweet—masculine and virile were better descriptors.

"Durin's beard… You look as though you're already in love with him," her father said.

Rejna scoffed lightly. "I hardly think so, _Adad_. I don't know him well enough to make such a claim, but…" She looked to him then. "I've thought of little else but him from the moment our eyes met. Today I took his arm as I guided him through the castle—oh, I know I should not have as we are not wed, but I could not resist the desire to touch him."

She set her tea on the side table and moved toward her father on the sofa, taking his free hand in hers. "He is a blacksmith by trade but his blood is not entirely common," she said. "He is kin of some degree to Lord Commander Dwalin, which means he is kin to King Dáin. Surely that means he is noble enough that marrying him would secure my claim to the throne."

Ragin downed his brandy and set the snifter aside. "I do not know that is certain, my dear. It might do to learn just how closely related to Dáin this Thorin fellow is, for if there are more than one or two degrees of separation Hagen will no doubt argue he is a commoner after all."

"But he is my One!" she cried. "I know it in my heart, _Adad_. Surely even Lord Hagen would not say I should defy Mahal's will!"

"I do not believe he would, but he will certainly argue that if such is the case I ought renounce you as my heir and name Hakon in your place."

"That is preposterous! _Khazad-dubanu_ is mine by right of birth," Rejna fumed. "It should not matter if my mate is common when he has been chosen for me by our Maker!"

Her father reached over and caressed her cheek. "Sweetheart, I agree with you wholeheartedly. But Hagen is a dwarrow who believes in the purity of noble blood, and even though your mate is a dwarf, if he is not one of the highborn he will not be seen as worthy of the throne. At least in Hagen's eyes."

"And what about yours?"

Ragin smiled. "Did you not just hear me say I agree with you? Rejna, I am over the mountain with joy for you, and I pray you will know the same happiness I did with your beloved _amad_. I don't care in the least how much or how little noble blood the dwarf has so long as he makes you happy. I would not even care if he was not your One, but a dwarf you chose simply because you loved him. That he is Mahal's choice only makes your union doubly blessed."

He tilted his head as if in thought. "Have you told Thorin of your belief he is your One?"

Rejna suddenly felt her happiness deflate as though a bubble had been punctured. "To be honest, _Adad_ , I fear to. You saw him today—he has to be near two centuries in age, if he is not already there. And while it matters not to me that he is much older than my own five and one hundred, I know that some males give up the notion of taking a mate once they've gotten so old. Do you think it possible he will not even want to marry me?"

"If he does not, then he is a fool and does not deserve you, Rejna," her father replied. "But Mahal, in his infinite wisdom, does not make mistakes. If our Lord has chosen him for you, then I have no doubt you will be wed. It just might take some convincing to get him to agree."

Ragin then gathered her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. "And really, _Nâtha_ , what dwarrow could look upon your beauty and still deny Mahal's will? You are the greatest treasure this kingdom has to offer. I dare him not to see that."


	41. Chapter 41

**For the second time in about a month, FFN is suffering a glitch in their review system. I got a notification of every review, but the reply link in the email only got me an error message saying the review could not be found. Once again, I had to resort to going directly to registered members' profiles and clicking on the PM link to reply to those of you that I could. Unfortunately, I don't remember everyone that I did get to reply to; the emails have already been deleted and the site has not yet fixed whatever glitch they're having that keeps reviews from being posted, so I can't look your names up on the review list. Please accept what thanks I can offer since I can't name you individually, save for the guest reviews which I saved (yeah, I know, I shoulda saved all the reviews since they weren't getting posted). If the reviews get posted before I get the next chapter written, I'll be sure to give you double the thanks.**

 **Dearreader - I'm glad you thought the last chapter wonderful. No, Árni did not hear Mahal speak to Thorin. He's merely an observant fellow and was not blind to the way he and Rejna were behaving toward each other. that last line of his was basically a prayer for help, because he can see how difficult it's going to be to change Thorin's mind. And yes, at least one them is accepting the truth, though the poor princess is still not sure how to go about getting her One to accept it as well!**

 **Fiora - I am so pleased to have another new reader who is enthusiastic for this story! I am absolutely chuffed you love it. Kíli will definitely be all right in the end, it's just going to take some time to get him there. So happy you enjoy Dwalin and Larkspur together, and Thorin has definitely met his One - he just needs to accept it! As for dear Fíli... ;)**

 **Edit at 4:15 AM - Suddenly all the reviews for chapter 40 are up. So, many thanks to Robinbird79, readergirl4985, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, Dearreader, yshxf, and fiora for your awesome reviews!**

* * *

 **41\. Taking Measure**

* * *

In only half a day, the foundation for the hobbit hole had been laid. Thorin had seen Dwalin's plans as they'd been hidden in his room that Larkspur would not see them, and on paper the layout had looked logical. Seeing it slowly come to life before his eyes, even he could imagine how impressive it would look once complete.

His hobbit cousin would surely be moved to tears at what her husband had done for her.

Now he, Dwalin, and four stonemasons who'd been hired were mixing mortar and setting stone for the kitchen floor, lower outside walls, and five fireplaces. Larkspur was at the Dwarrowvale library with Sindri and a couple other females; they had mentioned a summer reading program for the children during the luncheon yesterday, which the young teacher was only too happy to help with. Dwalin had later mentioned he ought to do something for Sindri in thanks for giving her a reason to stay away, as it was his intention to have the house finished before his wife ever saw it.

Mid-July in the south was proving to be hot and humid. All of them, including the two masons who were Men, had stripped down to their undershirts or nothing at all on their torsos. There were two large barrels of water nearby—new purchases, as the ones Thorin's people had carried from the Shire had been wrecked in the orc attack—one of which was for drinking and the other for dunking their heads in when they felt the need to cool off.

Thorin had done just that when the unmistakable sound of marching feet was heard. Flipping back his long, wet hair, he turned toward the source of the noise to find that King Ragin was approaching, accompanied by four guards. Brothers Solveg and Jormun he had met, the other two were unknown to him. But besides being surprised by the king's appearance, he was concerned with only one thing:

That he was to meet with him half naked. How wonderful.

In the next breath, Thorin told himself he would not be embarrassed. After all, he was laboring out of doors in the heat of the day, not working within the cooler confines of the mountain. It's not as if he desired to impress Rejna's father—that would mean he intended to pursue her, which he did not.

When the retinue came to a stop, Thorin bowed his head in greeting. "Your Majesty, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

Ragin looked toward the construction, then back to him. "I have heard from my daughter that you and yours intend to reside in my kingdom, Master Thorin. Dwarrowvale has had no residents come from the outside in over a thousand years that were not Edain, and in fact, since the reclaiming of the Lonely Mountain, I've actually lost a few hundred of my people—though I do not begrudge their desire to return to their ancestral homeland. Thus, I thought it only fitting that I offer you all a formal welcome."

"That is most gracious of you, my Lord." Thorin then turned toward Dwalin—he saw that their crew stood as if awed by the king's presence—and gestured his cousin forward. "May I introduce to you my kinsman Dwalin, son of Fundin."

Dwalin bowed his head. "It is an honor, my Lord."

"You are the Lord Commander of King Dáin's guard I have heard tell of?"

"I was, my Lord. However, when Thorin here announced he desired to relocate here in Dwarrowvale, the king bid me accompany him. And 'tis a very good thing he did, as when we traveled first to the Shire to see an old friend, 'twas when I met my lady wife," Dwalin said.

"I have heard of her as well—Rejna said she is a hobbit?" Ragin queried.

"Yes, she is one of the Shire folk, though I believe her heart is that of a dwarf. My Larkspur is as outspoken and fierce as any dam I have ever met," Dwalin said with a grin. "I imagine it is why Mahal chose her for me. We labor now to build the home I promised her on our wedding day, which we must soon finish as she is with child. I do not think there is a happier dwarf in all the world than me right now."

Though he smiled, Thorin shook his head as he said, "I imagine you are right, as you have talked of little else since she told you the news."

The king looked to him with a bemused expression, though Thorin saw in his eyes a measuring gaze. "As a father myself, I understand the feeling. But do not mock your kinsman, Master Thorin, for you will no doubt be just as boastful as he when the time comes and your wife has told you the same news."

In his mind's eye, there was a sudden image of Rejna full with a child he knew was his. Thorin shook his head to dispel the torturous sight. "Regrettably, my Lord, no such event will occur as I am too old to take a mate."

"Nonsense! How old are you?" Ragin asked.

Surprise flashed through him, but Thorin nonetheless answered. "I will be one ninety six in just over a month, my Lord."

Ragin snorted, then gestured toward him as he said, "You are clearly not ready for the grave yet, as I can see that you are still quite a strapping lad. Any dam or Edain female that saw you like this would certainly fall over her own feet to seek your attention."

Beside him Dwalin tried pointlessly to cover up a laugh with a coughing fit—the men and dwarves behind them made no such effort to hide their amusement.

Thorin felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and grew annoyed—no one had dared an attempt to humiliate him since he was a child. In the next instant he realized that the very thought itself was childish. King Ragin was simply making an observation, not trying to make him look a fool.

It was going to be an effort, he realized, to remember that he was no longer the king to whom everyone had to show respect—he was now just a common dwarf like any other citizen. He could not pretend to be the latter and still act like the former.

"My friend, I would not give up hope of finding a mate just yet," Ragin was saying. "Mahal might well surprise you with his greatest blessing, and how better to spend your remaining years than with a loving wife by your side and a bairn or two on your knee? Now Master Dwalin, I would have you show me the house you are building."

"Certainly, my Lord," Dwalin said as the king stepped toward him. "It is called a hobbit hole by the people of the Shire. My bride sacrificed much to journey here with me, and I would give something of her homeland back to her if I can."

Thorin watched as Dwalin led him toward the house, explaining what it was he wanted to do and how the house would look like it was dug out of a hill when it was finished. He could not help but shake his head in confusion—why was it that suddenly everyone seemed determined to marry him off? Bard had said near a year ago that some female might catch his eye before he was in his grave a second time, and now he had the princess' father telling him he was wrong about being too old. Rejna's own bodyguard, too observant dwarf that he was, had seen how he reacted to her and given his approval.

Why could they not understand how unfair it would be to a young dam to have only a handful of years with her mate—how painful it would be to him to not have been allowed to know her for a lifetime?

 _Why can_ you _not understand that it is not the number of years you are given that matters, but the life that you give to your years?_

Thorin ignored the voice at first, his mood now sullen as he returned to setting the stones of a fireplace that would service two bedrooms. _Why are you doing this to me?_ he asked silently, not really expecting an answer. _Have I not done as was asked of me? Instead of taunting me with the signs of a mating that can never be, why do you not show me the destiny you said waited here for me?_

 _What makes you think you have not seen it, my son?_ the Maker's voice countered. He then heard a deep rumble of laughter in his mind, followed by, _You have not changed, Thorin. Still so stubborn. Open your eyes—open your_ heart _—_ _and you will find what you seek_.

 **-...-**

Grehkin's Wood Furnishings was a great place to work. Once the owner had seen examples of his talent, he had not only hired him but granted Fíli the freedom to work on his own projects in the workshop in his spare time. This worked out quite well, as he had designed a headboard for Dwalin and Larkspur's bed that he was certain his hobbit cousin would love. The house was nearly finished—plastering of the walls was being done today, and the sod was to be laid on top of the house as well.

Fíli, like Dwalin, thanked Mahal daily for Princess Rejna having introduced Lark to Sindri. The dam had in turn introduced her to a number of other females, and Larkspur had made fast friends with each of them. She was whisked away each morning to help with this or that project, though Fíli had learned some of them were in on the surprise factor of their own. It was a miracle it had worked so far—though it had not stopped her asking numerous questions each evening—and Dwalin deemed they were days away from being able to fill the house with furniture, making it livable at last.

Personally, he could not wait to see their reaction to the headboard, his gift to them both. He just hoped Dwalin could refrain from breaking it during their…quality time.

After Grehkin had filled him in on which orders were ready for pick-up and which still needed worked on, his boss had departed for Eastfell. His was a prosperous business, and he had a shop in each of the settlements save for the Valley; his shop in the capital, the largest of the three, served both Dwarrowvale and the Valley. He usually ran it himself, but business had been picking up lately, which is why he'd taken on Fíli as an assistant.

After finishing the last order to be filled—a set of simple wood chairs with a matching table—he then set to work on his gift, which now only needed stained and painted.

The bell over the shop door rung suddenly and he called out, "Be right there!" After going over a spot on the wood with the stain he'd chosen, he put the brush in the pot and walked out into the show room.

A red haired daughter of Men—Edain, they were apparently called in Gondor—stood with her back to him, admiring a wooden wind chime he'd made a few days ago. Fíli couldn't help admiring her arse—she wasn't wearing a dress like most of the females he'd seen around the mountain or in the Valley, but a rather form-fitting pair of dark brown trousers. Her cream colored shirt was tucked in, leaving the perfect roundness of her rump uncovered for his eyes to appreciate.

 _Thank you, Mahal, for sending such a lovely customer my way_ , he thought, then cleared his throat. "How may I help you today, miss?"

He knew he had a slight smirk on his face, but the expression shifted to one of shock when she turned around. Fíli's breath caught in his lungs as he took in eyes as blue as a clear summer sky, a cute little button nose, freckles spread lightly across her nose and cheeks, and a pair of lips that just begged to be kissed.

When he felt his very blood warming the longer he stared, his eyes widened at the thought that flashed across his mind: _Could she be my One? Can it really be this total but absolutely perfect stranger?_

Thorin had said the warming of the blood was one of the signs. That being fixated on some aspect of her appearance was a sign—and damn, if he hadn't loved that arse. He almost wished she'd turn around again so he could have another look. Fíli racked his brain as fast as he could for another of the signs… touch! Yes, a touch that would make him feel like he was burning. That was another one.

The churning of his thoughts was making his head spin—not to mention he really ought to take a breath.

"'Ello. I didnae know Master Grehkin had taken on help," the girl said. She then smiled, which sent his already erratic heart rate into overdrive. And that accent! It reminded him a fair bit of Dáin's, which in turn made him smile. Maybe she was…

"But I s'pose I can see why; 'e's a busy fella, what with three shops an' all." She paused and blinked. "Are ye all right, lad?"

Fíli drew a ragged breath at last. "I'm sorry, Miss, I was just awestruck. You're really quite beautiful." Oh Mahal's balls, did he _really_ just use that cheesy line? He was a smoother operator than that!

She laughed a rich, throaty laugh that only served to make him want to say something equally ridiculous so she'd have cause to do it again. "Been a while since I've 'eard that one."

"Impossible," he countered. "Surely you must hear it multiple times a day."

"Not so, I'm afraid. The lads 'round here don't notice me."

He scoffed. "Then they are blind fools. I beg of you, tell me your name," he said.

She shook her head, though she smiled as she did so. "No need fer beggin'. I'm Melindë, daughter of Morren. 'Tis quite a pleasure ta meet ye."

 _Yes!_ he crowed silently when she held out her hand to be shook—he'd needed an excuse to touch her and she had just given it to him. He prayed as he stepped closer that it didn't mean she was already married, as he'd learned the Edain citizens of Dwarrowvale had adopted the Dwarven custom of not allowing physical contact between males and females who were unrelated.

But then what male—Man or dwarf—would allow his woman to run around in trousers? The only females he'd ever seen in trousers were Rangers and elves. And with an arse like hers, if Melindë were _his_ woman, he'd want her to keep it covered so other males could not look at it.

"Fíli, son of Síli, here to serve you," he said, and the moment his hand clasped hers fire shot up his arm.

The next thing Fíli knew, the action born of either elation or stupidity, he had drawn her down—she was taller than he by about a foot—so that their lips met. Melindë made a small squeak of surprise as he was lifting his other hand to hold her head at the nape, though much to his relief, instead of pushing him away she responded by kissing him back.

Fíli could not believe this was happening. She was _his_ —he knew it as sure as he knew his own name. His One! He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue past her lips, the taste of her mouth causing white-hot desire to flare through him. He felt himself growing hard instantly.

As soon as the realization he was becoming aroused flittered into his mind, he broke contact, stumbling back in horror. What the _razâd_ was he doing?! Oh, he most assuredly wanted to make her his in _all_ ways—but he would not be doing it here in the shop! He knew absolutely nothing about her except her name, and she deserved so much better than that.

Knowing his mother would be mortified if she could see him now, Fíli lowered his head in shame. "I beg your every pardon," he pleaded. "No self-respecting dwarrow should take such liberties with a lady he has only just met."

"I, um…" Melindë cleared her throat. "Yer right there. Most fellas would buy a girl dinner first, at the least."

Fíli lifted his head though he feared finding censure in her gaze; he found only mild confusion, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Please, allow me to make amends for my dishonorable behavior. Let me buy you that dinner," he said.

"So ye can kiss me again?" she countered, and the teasing light that came into her eyes made him smile.

"The next you have my word I shall ask permission for," Fíli replied.

Melindë drew a breath. "First things first, lad—why don't we take care o' the business I came in for?"

"Um, ah, yes, let's see to that," he stuttered as he turned and moved behind the counter. Fíli searched for the book in which Grehkin wrote down his orders and flipped it open.

"Ah, here it is—Melindë, four chairs and a small square table. I just put those together this morning," he told her. "There's nothing here about having them stained or painted. Did you want that?"

Melindë shook her head. "No, they're for the boat. No point makin' 'em pretty when the spray o' water will just wash it away."

Fíli raised a curious eyebrow. "You have a boat?"

She grinned, and he was struck again with just how breathtaking she looked when she smiled. "I live on a boat, Master Fíli. Well, just about. Me dad and I have a house on land down river in the Valley, but I spend most of me time on the boat."

"Is it a pleasure boat?" he asked. He and Kíli had been surprised by the number of boats people here owned just for sailing up and down the river for fun.

"No. That boat's me bread and butter. Me family's been fishers since me granddad was about my age. He started out with one boat and a few friends, now we've ten boats with a crew of six on each. I captain one of 'em."

Fíli was impressed. Most young daughters of Men that sought employment became governesses, serving girls in taverns, teachers, housemaids, or healers. Some looked to the brothel for making coin. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to Mahal that Melindë had never had to make _that_ choice. Her work as a fisherman—fisherwoman?—would certainly explain why she wore trousers instead of a dress.

Though since she had mentioned age, he could not help wondering how old she was. Clearly she was at least the age of majority, or so he assumed. The ages of Edain folk were not always easy to determine on sight alone, and giving her a subtle once-over now (he had to force himself not to allow his gaze to linger on the gentle swell of her breasts), he realized she could be anywhere from 15 to 25. Then again she could be much older for all he knew, and he figured it was unlikely a child—male or female—would be in charge of an entire fishing boat.

He wanted to know how old she was so he could figure out how much time they would have together. Perhaps it was morbid to think of such a thing when they'd barely become acquainted, but he was not so foolish as to not know he would have to be prepared for the eventuality of her death. The truth of the matter was that his mate would pass long before he did. He'd once asked Dwalin how he could just accept that the Maker's choice was a female who would share his life for less than a century, and Dwalin had replied with a couple of simply put sentences: "There is no choice, Fíli. Not for me."

Fíli had decided then that if his One turned out to be a daughter of Men (as she was not likely to be a hobbit, given he'd met so many in those four months and bonded with none), he would accept it with just as much grace. Like Dwalin, he'd simply be happy to have met her at all, and would do whatever it took to make the most of the time Mahal would grant them.

"All right then. I just have to take final payment and I can mark this collected. Have you a way to get the table and chairs to your boat?" Fíli said.

"Yeah, I've a wagon parked in the staging area at the east entrance," Melindë told him as she untied a small drawstring pouch from her belt and pulled some coins from it. Fíli was glad he now had the counter between them, for even the bare touch of her skin to his, when she placed the gold and two silvers into his palm, sent fire blazing along his skin and blood rushing to his groin.

He cleared his throat and willed the erection to go down as he put the money in the lockbox, then reached for the quill in the inkpot and marked the book as required. "I'll uh, I'll go and get your order for you."

Fíli hurried into the back before she could reply, passing the workshop and heading for the storeroom. Durin's beard… Being around her was going to be hell until he could convince her to marry him. Dwalin had said as much about his courtship of Larkspur after he'd kissed her the first time, and it was not lost on Fíli that now he'd done the same with his One, he was going to be tortured with dreams. Very pleasurable dreams from what Thorin had said, but torture just the same.

He'd have to remember to stuff a pillow into his mouth should he be driven to pleasuring himself. He would avoid Dwalin's embarrassment of being caught at it if he could at all help it.

When he'd carried all five pieces of Melindë's order out into the showroom, he went back for a cart that Grehkin had said was for hauling furniture to customers' homes in or out of the mountain. He and Melindë lifted all the pieces onto the cart and left the shop; Fíli locked the door behind them and she led the way to the east entrance.

Once all five pieces were loaded into her wagon, Fíli turned to her and said, "I really do wish to apologize for what happened in the shop. I could tell you what came over me, but I don't think you'd believe me."

Melindë raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps ye can try explaining it o'er that dinner ye owe me."

Fíli felt his hope grow. "Maybe I will. Do you know the Falling Rock Tavern, out in the Valley?"

She nodded. "Aye. I've been a time or two, though not recently."

"That would explain why we've not met before, as I would surely have remembered seeing one so lovely in that place," he told her. "My kin and I have been in Dwarrowvale near a month, and my brother and I have visited the Falling Rock at least twice a week."

Melindë laughed again. He loved the sound she made when she laughed already. "Ye sure are a charmer, Master Fíli. I will see ye there at seven drums if that works for ye."

"Works just fine for me. I look forward to seeing you again."

He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. Melindë did the same before she climbed into the seat of the wagon, then gave a little wave as she pulled away and headed out of the entrance. He did not want to let her go but knew he had no choice, and consoled himself with the knowledge that he would see her again that evening.

Back at the shop, Fíli re-locked the door once he'd gone back inside. He did not want someone to pop in while he was in the privy taking care of an aching need in his trousers he could no longer ignore.

* * *

 **A/N: What Mahal says to Thorin about life and the years in it is paraphrased from words said by Abraham Lincoln. His actual words were "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."**


	42. Chapter 42

**First I have to say how very excited I am—I've done so much writing today that I'm actually a whole chapter ahead! Meaning I _could_ post two chapters today, but... I won't. There's got to be something for you all to look forward to, after all. :)**

 **Many, many thanks of course goes out to my awesome Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 41: readergirl4985, Robinbird79, readpink, dearreader, yshxf, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Celebrisilweth, and Aashi. I think y'all's enthusiasm must've given my Muse a serious booster. You're incredible! And thanks also to everyone reading alone in silence, I very much appreciate you also!**

 **dearreader - Fíli definitely caught on MUCH sooner than Thorin! That boy just knew that when it happened to him, he was going to embrace it! Thorin, on the other hand, he knows what's going on but is deep down afraid to do as Dwalin and Fili have done. The silly dwarf is stuck on the idea that he's too old. He will learn, however, to appreciate what time he's been given...eventually.**

 **Aashi - I'm so happy you like Melindë! She is definitely running her own business, so to speak. More about that will be forthcoming in the next few chapters. And Fíli actually shocked me a little too, because that isn't how I originally conceived their first meeting. But as sometimes happens when I'm doing the writing, things change!**

* * *

 **42\. That's Just How I Feel**

"Am I wrong for thinking that we could be something for real?"

~ Nico & Vinz, _Am I Wrong?_

* * *

Fíli became more anxious for his workday to end the longer it went on.

Or maybe he was just excited, his anticipation for this evening's dinner ramping up his nerves. He could not wait to see Melindë again—and with nearly every breath, he gave thanks to Mahal for bringing her into his life. He thanked the Maker for pleading with Sulladad that they be returned to Middle-earth, for he would never have met his One had they been forced to remain in the Great Forge.

It seemed forever before it was five drums and time to close the shop. Fíli hurried through the closing routine, made sure everything was locked up tight, and then ran through the mountain to the apartment he shared with his brother and uncle. Though Dwalin and Larkspur—and Asrân, of course—had chosen to remain at the inn until their house was built, he, Kíli, and Thorin had decided on his and Kíli's return from the north tunnel to seek a more permanent residence. They still often ate meals with their kin in the dining room of the inn, but each had sought the comfort of more private lodgings.

It was luck to have found a place with three bedrooms available. The landlord had said it used to the home of a family the elder two of which had been refugees from Erebor. They'd left much of the furniture behind, such as the dining table and chairs, sofa, and bed frames. The three of them had only had to purchase new bedding, a few comfortable armchairs, and whatever else they desired for their own rooms, as well as crockery and dinnerware to cook with and eat on. And although Thafar and Bahûna often slept in the rooms of Kíli and Thorin, they'd made sure to place a thick, comfortable rug in front of the main fireplace for the growing wolf pups to lounge on in the sitting room.

Fíli banged through the door and headed straight for his room. He had to find something nice to wear for his dinner with Melindë. He needed a bath—one of the things he was thankful for in regard to the apartment was that he wouldn't have to bathe in the presence of others. Their rooms at the inn did not have private wet rooms, and they'd been forced to use the communal wet rooms for relieving themselves and bathing. Elves might have no qualms about bathing with others of their kind, but dwarrow were more like Men in that the cleansing of the body was a private affair. Only military garrisons and public lodgings like a tavern or inn had communal rooms (one for males and another for females). Dwarrowvale had hot springs like they did in Erebor, and those were community places, but everyone there had some form of clothing on.

He paused, reflecting on the fact that the Company had gone skinny-dipping in a fountain in Rivendell. Grinning, Fíli shook his head and continued. That was due to circumstance and a desire to annoy the elves, nothing more. Whether the others felt the same or not, the only dwarf's _faslûn_ he cared to see was his own.

It was unfortunate that the nicest tunic he owned was the deep blue one he'd worn to his mother's funeral. It would have to do though—he wanted to make a good impression on his One. Fíli quickly removed the clasps from his braids and brushed out his hair and mustache, for a brief moment admiring the fact that his beard was now an inch from his chin since his rebirth. It was not long enough for braiding as yet, though he could clip beads or jewels to it if he desired. If things went well with Melindë, he might just put a bead or two in.

After setting the tunic and a clean pair of trousers on his bed, Fíli went into the wash room he shared with his brother; Thorin, naturally, had taken the master bedroom for his own, which had a private wash room. After turning on the hot tap to fill the large brass tub he stripped off his dusty, sawdust-covered clothes and climbed in. After making quick work of washing himself, he drained the dirty water and filled it again so he could soak away his nervous tension. Fíli laid back with his head resting on the edge of the tub and let his thoughts drift.

He was not surprised at all to find them focused on Melindë. Mahal, she was beautiful! Her eyes were lovely and so was her mouth. A mouth he still could not believe he'd kissed—both shame and excitement filled him at the memory. She'd tasted exquisite, of a sweetness he could not quite define. He was truly surprised she'd kissed him back rather than slapping him. _Probably just as surprised as I was_ , he mused.

Fíli closed his eyes, relaxing into the hot water as he continued to visualize his One. The trousers she'd worn had been all but molded to her, defining her arse so perfectly. It was round but not too wide, her hips curved just enough for him to grip. He could easily imagine gripping them as he thrust into her.

As his musings detoured toward the erotic, he took himself in hand and began to slowly stroke. A stray thought that he shouldn't be thinking of her like this when they'd only just met crossed his mind, but he recalled Thorin's words about the firestorm: Having kissed her and "tasted of her flesh"—though not in the way he hoped to very soon—he would be consumed with thoughts and dreams of laying with her until at last they were joined. And really, was it so wrong to think of a beautiful woman while pleasuring oneself if she'd been chosen specifically for him?

So lost was he that he did not hear the apartment door open. He did not hear Thafar's usual yip-yip greeting, nor Kíli's voice calling out to see if he was home. Fíli did not even notice he had begun to moan in response to the pleasurable sensations flowing through his body or the splashing of the water from the movement of his hand as he increased the pace of his strokes.

However, though the water was still warm he felt as though he had been dropped into an ice-cold bath when Kíli suddenly burst into the wet room and cried out in horror.

" _Faslmagân Durinul!_ " he shouted before turning around immediately and slamming the door closed behind him.

 _So much for not getting caught_ , Fíli thought miserably as the humiliation washed over him, effectively cooling his ardor.

After several minutes of sulking, he pulled the drain plug to let the now tepid water out of the tub. Fíli stood and reached for the thick towel he'd brought in and after patting the excess water from his hair and skin, he stepped out of the tub and wrapped it around his waist, then hurried from the wash room to his bedroom. He was enormously relieved that he did not have to cross through the sitting room first, though he knew he could not stay hiding in his room forever. He would have to face Kíli eventually, and he did have a _very_ important appointment to keep.

Melindë returning to his thoughts, though certainly in a much tamer fashion, served to brighten his mood a little as he dressed and went through the process of combing and re-braiding his hair and mustache. Still, it was with no small amount of trepidation that he stuffed his feet into his boots and left his room.

Kíli was sitting with his back to him on the sofa, his pipe in his mouth and a cloud of smoke over his head. Thafar lay on the rug before the fireplace gnawing on a bone. "Um, Kee?"

His brother held up a hand as he pulled his pipe from between his teeth. "It never happened," he said quickly. "I saw nothing, we don't have to acknowledge it. It never happened."

"I met my One today," Fíli said, hoping that would explain without furthering the embarrassment for either of them.

Kíli turned his head slowly to look over his shoulder at him, his brow pinched together. "Are you fecking serious?" he asked. At his nod, the younger dwarrow stood, his expression changing to one of shock. "Feck me, you _are_ serious."

Fíli nodded again, and feeling some of the tension leave him, he moved closer as a smile came to his face. "Out of bloody nowhere, _naddith_ , the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth came into the shop today. She has a gorgeous smile and the most perfect arse I have ever seen on a daughter of Men—or any female I have ever met, for that matter."

"A…a daughter of Men, is she?" Kíli asked.

"Yes, she is," Fíli replied, then frowned. "Does that bother you?"

His brother scoffed. "Not in the least—Dwalin's One is a hobbit, after all. Can't say as I'm much surprised, really, considering your fondness for their females. I'm just… stunned, I suppose. All that time in our old life, none of us met the One Mahal chose for us. We've been reborn less than a year and already you and Thorin have met yours."

Fíli laughed and shook his head. They were not blind, though their uncle certainly seemed to be, as to what was going on between him and Princess Rejna. Thorin had steadfastly refused to discuss the matter, but anyone who saw them together could see that there was a very strong connection between them—something that went beyond mere attraction. Their meetings had not been frequent, as her duties as princess and army general took up much of her time, but Rejna and Thorin had met often enough in the month they'd been in Dwarrowvale for those that knew them to see more clearly than either one of them seemed to. They had eyes only for each other whenever they were in the same room, and when they were near one another, neither could seem to resist some subtle touch to the hand, arm, or shoulder—though nothing that was too serious a breach of custom.

Neither, for whatever reason, was willing to take the inevitable next step—openly declaring the other was their One.

"If only Thorin would remember what we talked about as we left the tunnel that first time," Fíli said.

"You mean what Gunnar said about defying Mahal's will also being blasphemy?" Kíli offered. "And how you said no dwarf would be that foolish?"

"Aye. I just don't get why Uncle doesn't just accept it like Dwalin did. Like I have."

Fíli walked around the end of the sofa to stand before his brother. He felt a sudden desperation to make Kíli understand, to make him see how welcome this was to him. "She's incredible, Kee. A fisherman's daughter who captains her own boat in his fleet. I felt the warming of my blood the moment my eyes met hers, felt the burning of my skin when I shook her hand, and in the next instant I found myself kissing her."

"You've kissed her already?!" Kíli exclaimed. "Have you no shame, _nadad_? What would Mother say if she knew you'd kissed a lady within moments of meeting her for the _very first time_?"

"Before or after she soundly boxed my ears?" Fíli countered with a knowing smile. "I know, I know—it wasn't the most respectable thing to do. But I swear to you, Kíli, it was a compulsion I simply couldn't resist! It was like I just _had_ to know, right then and there, if she was my One. That kiss confirmed it beyond any doubt I might have had."

Kíli cleared his throat. "Well, that uh, certainly explains the…" He gestured toward the hall that led to their rooms and the wet room they shared.

"Er, yeah. Explains that."

In the next moment he found himself encircled by his brother's arms. Kíli held him tightly as he said, "I am truly happy for you."

Fíli returned the embrace. "Thank you, brother."

When they parted, he raised an eyebrow at the smirk Kíli sported. "What?"

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Kíli lifted a hand and clapped him on the shoulder. "No more brothels for you, _nadad_. No more of that fantasy life you talked about."

Fíli smiled wide as he said, "And good riddance. Who needs the fantasy when reality is so much sweeter?"

 **-...-**

He was early, Fíli thought. Surely it was not yet seven drums and Melindë was not late—or worse, not going to show up. Maybe she had decided she should be angry about the kiss and was standing him up as punishment.

Mahal, he hoped not. How would he find her then, and beg her forgiveness?

A huge sigh of relief escaped him when in the next moment after that thought, Melindë walked in. Fíli had chosen a table where he could see the front door of the Falling Rock, that he would see her the moment she came inside. She wore a green tunic over another pair of brown trousers, lighter ones than earlier in the day; the shirt was not tucked in and she wore a black leather belt that sat right on the curve of her hips. This made him happy in that her bottom would be less conspicuous to the other patrons, but then he was also disappointed in that the longer swath of fabric also would obscure it from his own view.

He chuckled to himself as he stood and waved her over—Dwalin had said it was Larkspur's sweet smile that he loved most about her appearance. For him, it would seem, it was Melindë's sweet arse.

"'Ello again," she said when she reached the table. "Me apologies for being tardy—one of me boys' has a wife and she went into labor with their third bairn. I sat with 'im a while as the midwives tended her."

More relief washed through him as he pulled out her chair for her. "Was the little one born before you left?" he asked.

"Aye, 'twas a fairly quick birth, all things considered. They now 'ave a wee lass to join with their two lads."

Moments later a serving girl came and took their order; they both ordered mutton chops with boiled potatoes and carrots and a mushroom gravy, and of course pints of ale to wash it down with.

Conversation was light at first. When asked, Fíli spoke of his work at Grehkin's and Melindë was happy to talk to him about the fishing business. Neither one brought up the kiss, and it was all Fíli could do to keep his hands to himself.

He wanted to talk about the kiss—more specifically, _why_ he had kissed her. He wanted to be open and honest with her about his intentions, he wanted to tell her she was _his_ and that he one day intended to make her his wife.

It did not help that he was distracted by more than the woman he was with. Fíli had noticed that from the moment of her appearance, several of the other patrons—most of them Edain males—were staring at Melindë. More than once, he'd seen one point at her and speak to his companions, who would look and then join the first fellow in laughing. It was truly beginning to grate on his nerves, the blatant disrespect they showed her. Rejna had impressed upon them that intermarriage was not looked upon as unfavorably in Dwarrowvale as it was in the north, but it didn't seem that these men had gotten that message.

"Fíli, what's the matter?"

Melindë's question drew his attention back to her. Fíli forced himself to smile. "It's nothing."

She raised an eyebrow. "Please do nae spoil our evening with prevarication. I kin see somethin's botherin' ye. What is it?"

He sighed. "Ever since you walked in, several of the folk in here have been staring at you, whispering to their friends, laughing and pointing. Not only is such behavior bloody childish, but it's downright rude. I've a mind to go about the room knocking heads."

When her expression fell and her gaze dropped to her plate, he became concerned. "Forgive me if the threat of violence bothers you. I just can't stand that they're being arseholes."

"I um… I appreciate that ye feel the desire to defend me honor, Fíli, truly," Melindë said. "But don't. 'Tis not worth getting in a tither over."

"It most certainly is!" he argued. "Have the Men in these lands no manners? Did their parents not teach them to respect a lady?"

She snorted softly. "One has to be seen as a lady in order to earn their respect."

Now Fíli scowled. "You mean to say they don't treat you like a lady, as well you should be?" he asked, his fury at the notion barely restrained.

Melindë looked up then, and in her eyes he saw a mixture of emotions he did not care to define, as none of them were pleasant. "Fíli, I beg of ye, just let it go."

"Tell me what happened, and why I should not remove a few teeth from their mouths for such ill treatment."

"I'd rather nae talk about it, if 'tis all the same to ye. The whole bloody affair was years ago, and I've put it behind me, at least as best I can," she told him, her eyes on her plate again as she absently swirled her fork in the remnants of the gravy.

Fíli's concern deepened. "Melindë, tell me what happened," he asked again.

The crestfallen expression that took over her countenance, coupled by the sheen of tears in her eyes, felt as a knife to his heart. His beautiful lady had clearly _not_ put whatever had transpired behind her and obviously still suffered from what he could only assume was a traumatic experience. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to gather her in his arms and comfort her, though in the back of his mind he still raged at whatever had been done to her and wanted to bash a few heads in.

"I can't, Fíli. I'm sorry, I just can't," Melindë mumbled, her voice barely audible over the din of the dining room.

She stood suddenly, her eyes sorrowful as they captured his gaze. "I think this was a mistake," she said, shattering his heart with her words. "I should nae 'ave come 'ere, should nae 'ave hoped that for once I might 'ave a chance at happiness. Even dead, that bastard follows me wherever I go."

With that, Melindë turned and strode quickly for the door. Fíli was so stunned it took him a moment to respond, and he hurriedly reached into his pocket, threw the coins to pay for their dinner on the table, and rushed after her.

He caught sight of her stalking away from the center of town. "Melindë, wait!" he called out. She ignored him. He broke into a run and when he caught up with her, reached out to take her arm.

She jerked it free of his grasp as she spun to face him. "Don't!" she cried in warning.

"Melindë, I beg you—talk to me! Tell me what happened. Let me help you!" Fíli pleaded, feeling desperate.

This could not be happening. She was his One, he was _sure_ of it! Mahal did not make mistakes—they were meant to be together! Whatever had been done to her, he could fix it, or at the least help her get through it. She only had to let him!

"Oh, _melui naug nín_ … I almost wish ye could," she said as the tears at last began to fall. "But I know how yer kin feel about honor, and I've just enough left to keep me boat on the water. I'm sorry. Forgive me for giving the both of us false hope. _Namárië_ , Fíli."

He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as she turned around and walked away. Stunned into silence by his pain, by hers, Fíli could do naught but watch her go. It was many minutes before he could even bring himself to blink—let alone command his feet to carry him away from the scene—and it took him nearly three times as long to reach his apartment in the mountain as it normally would, because he felt utterly lost and confused.

Melindë was his One. How could this night have gone so very wrong?

It was a fool's hope to wish for both to be gone or in bed, but nevertheless Fíli prayed as he walked down the hall that led to their door that he would not encounter his brother or his uncle. He wanted only to crawl into his bed and scream into his pillow.

Perhaps beg Mahal to help him figure out what to do.

It was just his luck that Kíli and Thorin were in the sitting room when he walked in—they seemed to be waiting for him. His brother must've been unable to keep silent about his meeting his One, which wouldn't have bothered him had the evening not turned out to be such a disaster. His uncle took one look at him and stood.

"What happened, Irakdashat?" he asked

Fíli blinked. "I don't know. I just… I don't even know."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

Sulladad – All Father (Eru Ilúvatar)

 _Faslmagân Durinul_ – Durin's balls (lit. Durin's testes)

 **Sindarin:**

 _melui naug nín_ – my sweet dwarf

 _Namárië_ – Farewell


	43. Chapter 43

**Robinbird79, readpink, dearreader, readergirl4985, vlnelson1955, dojoson41 and Aashi... You all are my Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 42. Thank you all so very much for the kind words and enthusiasm! Many thanks also to gginsc and ShadeReader for clicking the follow button and to everyone else just reading along quietly!**

 **Aashi - That is a question that will be answered in another chapter.** **Melindë's hair is red simply because of the actress I base her on (I tend to "cast" all my OCs), which is the wonderful Rose Leslie.**

 **Now, I know you all are eager to find out what happened to poor Melindë—and you will, I swear! Just... not until next chapter. The first part of this chapter you're about to read simply had to be written and put into the story.** **Oh! and I've really done so much writing in the last couple days that I'm now TWO chapters ahead. You might benefit by getting two chapters a week, so long as my Muse keeps the creative juices flowing!**

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 **43\. Time to Come Clean**

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It was no small amount of surprise to see Dáin himself waiting at the gate.

Bard's brow winged up under the circlet he wore as he dismounted from Huron, then reached up to help Lucanío down. Gildan was assisting Tilda down from her horse as Magnus stepped up to one side of him and Carr, Lucanío's bodyguard, came up on the other.

 _I need you to come to the mountain. Bring everyone who knows, including the boy_.

That was all Dáin's letter had said, but there could be no doubt as to what—or rather whom—he referred. Despite what was even now happening in his home, he'd been encouraged to attend this impromptu meeting, though Bard had assured Tauriel he would not stay long.

" _Gi suilon, Aran_ Dáin!" Lucanío said cheerfully with a wave of his hand.

Dáin looked down at the three-year-old. "Why hello there, _mim bahûn_ ," the dwarf replied. "And how are ye today?"

Lucanío bounced up and down, a grin on his little face. " _Naneth_ is having _nethig nín!_ "

"Luc, that was Da's news to share!" Tilda admonished her brother.

Bard glanced at her with a smile. "It's quite all right, dearest. Your little brother is just excited he will soon be a big brother also."

Dáin's eyes widened as he looked at him. "Tauriel is having her child? I thought she was not due for a moon?"

With a nod, Bard replied, "Indeed, she is a month from the Begetting Day. But her labor began a few hours ago, and though I am told it is still early yet, I am sure you can understand why I desire to having this meeting quickly, that I may return to Dale and be near when our daughter is born."

"Certainly, _bahûnê_. This explains why yer party be a few folk short."

"Aye," Bard began as he started to follow the dwarf king into Erebor. "Everyone of my kin who knows is here save for Tauriel, Sigrid, and Laivindil."

They were well into the staging area when he ventured to query in a low voice, "May I ask what brought this on? It was my understanding no one was to be told."

"Aye, that's true," Dáin replied, his voice also low so it would not be overheard by anyone outside their party. "But he sent a message via raven that arrived a short while ago. Besides requesting more funds, he's decided ta have me inform the Company, so's I might send two of 'em as escort for their shipment with the caravan that's headin' out later this week."

No question needed to be asked as to who "he" was. If the message included permission to inform the Company, it could only have come from Thorin. He considered the request as Dáin led them to a conference room, and decided that it was a wise move. It would be best to have someone they knew and trusted to escort a shipment of treasure rather than leaving it in the hands of strangers. And trusting the Company with the truth meant more eyes and ears open in the mountain for the spies they'd been warned were within.

As they entered the room at last, near all the Company was there, save for Bombur. He came in at a breathless jog a few minutes after Bard, Tilda, Lucanío, and Gildan were seated—Magnus and Carr choosing to stand against the wall as they normally did—amidst a flurry of whispered questions and curious looks.

Dáin ordered his guards to exit the room and shut the doors behind them, with the warning that they were not to be disturbed except for the direst of circumstances.

"Or word comes from Dale that I am needed," Bard added.

When they had gone, the dwarf king had just opened his mouth to begin when Lucanío once again spoke.

" _Dada_ , are we here because of _Nana_ 's friends from Ravenhill?"

"Luc!" Tilda exclaimed.

"I thought we weren't supposed to tell anybody about them?" the little boy went on. "I didn't tell anybody, I promise!"

"We know you didn't, Lucanío," Bard said, shooting an apologetic glance at Dáin. His son was sometimes just a little too smart for his own good, he mused.

Dáin suddenly burst out laughing, prompting Balin to ask, "My Lord, to what does the boy refer? What is this meeting about?"

"Yes, why are King Bard and his children present?" queried Glóin.

"They are here as witnesses. Would ye care ta do th' honors, little one?" Dáin said, his gaze on Lucanío.

The little boy frowned, and looked between Dáin and Bard before saying, "You mean it's okay to tell them about Thorin and Fíli and Kíli and how me and Carr found them asleep on Ravenhill last year?"

There were, predictably, a number of audible gasps among the members of the Company. "What's he talking about?" asked Bofur.

"My _nana_ took me to see the memorial on Ravenhill almost a whole year ago, and we went in different directions because we didn't know where it was. Me and Carr found three dwarves on the ground on the landing where the carving was, and _Nana_ and _Dada_ told me they were her friends who had been sent back by a maker," Lucanío explained.

"Sent back by Ilúvatar at the request of their Maker, my Prince," Gildan corrected him gently.

Wide eyes and disbelieving expressions abounded on the faces of the nine dwarves who were just hearing the story for the first time. Dáin then took over the conversation, explaining everything they knew about the return of their slain kinsmen, including where they were and why they were just now being told.

"That _dashatu laszûna_!" Balin shouted angrily as he pounded a fist on the table. "He knew this whole bloody time!"

Bard had no idea what the old dwarf had said, but he knew instinctively that it was not complimentary. "My Lord Balin, I understand your anger, but it was not your brother's choice to remain silent," he offered.

"I don't care! We are kin—Thorin was as a brother to me. And Dwalin told me _nothing_!"

"You're not the only one they didn't tell," Dori said, his angry tone making it clear that the usually unflappable dwarf was just as incensed.

"Does Thorin truly not trust us?" Bifur asked.

"I do not think that is the case, Master Dwarf," Tilda spoke up, the soft cadence of her voice drawing the attention of each member of the Company. "It was more that Thorin wished to protect you all from the same spies that are a danger to them. He had no desire to see you or your families put at risk because they had returned."

"This news disturbs me, Dáin," Nori put in. "My intelligence network has heard of no such thing as spies working for the Deceiver in our mountain."

"And why would yer people know anythin' of it?" Dáin countered. "They hear nothin' because they're not listenin' to the right words or askin' the right questions, I don't doubt—not that I hold ye ta any blame fer it. No dwarrow likes ta think his own kin are traitors."

The Lord Inquisitor of Erebor scowled. "They will be from now on, Your Majesty, I can assure you of that."

Bard watched as Dáin sat back, releasing a ragged sigh as he dragged a hand over his face. He looked greatly relieved to have finally been able to tell _someone_ the truth. "Lads, I know this was a mighty whallop o' news ta take in, and some o' ye will want ta run and tell your wives and children."

He looked to Glóin and Bombur as he said this, as they were the only two of the Company with families. "But ye cannae do that. Thorin's instructions were ta tell you lot and _only_ you. I've not even told me own wife, and ye know how bloody hard it is to keep _anything_ from that dam. I know what 'e's askin' is goin' ta be mighty hard ta keep ta yerselves, but it is our King's command. You cannae tell a single soul outside of this room."

"You still consider Thorin the king?" Óin asked.

Dáin nodded. "Aye. Until his true last day," he said. "The only reason he is nae here at this moment is because Mahal told him ta go ta the White Mountains. Thorin believed there is somethin' he's meant ta do there."

"Rejna," said Ori suddenly. The scribe looked to Balin. "Do you remember what you said about her when we met her in Minas Tirith?"

Balin nodded. "Aye, I remember. And I still believe it to be true."

He looked to Dáin. "It is possible that Thorin's new destiny includes furthering the line of Durin, to keep the senior line going strong with new blood."

Bard chuckled, then said, "You mean to say you think Thorin's supposed to get married and father children?"

At Balin's nod, he burst into a full laugh. The white-haired dwarf frowned. "I do not see what is so amusing about that. It may not be his only purpose, certainly, but I've a strong feeling now that it _is_ part of it. When I first met her during the expedition, King Bard, I felt it in my bones that she could be his One."

"I remember that!" Bofur said. "You said it was a pity he hadn't lived to see her lovely face, but now he's alive again—and in Dwarrowvale, where the princess lives!"

Bard laughed again, which prompted Tilda to say, "Da, I have to agree with Balin—I don't see what's so funny about that."

"What is amusing, dearest, is that on the morning after Thorin's confession, we spoke of Tauriel's duties as Queen. He mentioned what would have been expected of Fíli's wife had he been made king as originally intended, to which Fíli replied he'd rather have a lass with spirit over a mouse. After Thorin told him he now had the chance to find his spirited lass, I asked him if he might consider taking a bride now that the reclaiming of Erebor was no longer a burden," Bard told her. "He claimed to be too old to marry, and now Balin is saying it may well be a part of his new destiny."

Dáin grunted, though they could see he was also amused at the prospect. "Good luck gettin' my cousin ta see it that way," he said. "Knowing his stubborn arse, he's keepin' the princess at arm's length even while wanting nothing more than ta take her into those arms." He snorted then. "And folk think he's the more reasonable of us. Well, there goes any chance I had o' getting' her to marry my son."

The dwarf king cleared his throat. "All right, now we've got that out o' the way… Balin, I need ye ta get four large chests and fill 'em from the treasury for the lads. Have them ready for shipping with the Dwarrowvale caravan."

"Certainly, my Lord, but are you sure that's wise? How will the chests be kept secure, either from the folk in the caravan or from bandits on the trail south?" Balin asked.

"Easy. You and Nori are goin' with 'em."

 **-...-**

"Cap'n, kin I 'ave a word?"

Melindë looked up at Belador, her First Mate. "Sure, Bel. Come on in."

Belador stepped into the Captain's cabin, a combination study and private bunk room, and shut the door behind him. She dropped her quill into the inkpot and set the account book aside to give him her full attention.

"What can I do for ye?" she asked.

Her first mate leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ye can go see 'im."

Color rose in her cheeks and she looked away from her longtime friend. "I do nae know what yer talkin' about."

"Ye most certainly do, Mel," Belador countered. "I'm talkin' 'bout tha' dwarf fella ye were all excited over t'other day. Fee-somethin'-or-other."

"Fíli," she all but whispered. "His name's Fíli."

"So wha' happened? Ye've been a miserable sod for two days—did ye have an argument or somethin'?"

Melindë pushed to her feet and crossed over to the porthole on the port side of the ship. "We didnae argue," she said. "And it does nae matter what happened, Bel, I cannae see him again."

"Whyever nae? I thought ye liked 'im?"

She sighed as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "Because he knows somethin's off about me. There were folk in the Falling Rock makin' it obvious I was a figure ta be scorned."

"And Fíli noticed?" She nodded. "Did ye tell 'im what happened?"

Whirling to face Belador, Melindë said, "How could I?! Bel, ye know how important honor is ta dwarves! I cannae hope ta have any kind o' relationship with a dwarf when me own is in tatters."

Belador stepped up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. " _Your_ honor," he said, emphasizing the first word, "is completely intact. Ye did nothing wrong but report a crime."

"Fine, then," she retorted, throwing her hands in the air. "If nae me honor, then me reputation is certainly ruined. No dwarf will want ta associate 'imself with a ruined woman."

"Don't ye think per'aps ye should let Fíli make tha' choice for 'imself?" Belador countered. "Yer assuming he'll nae want ye if he knows the truth."

"Because he won't!" she exploded. "No other male, dwarf or Edain, has wanted anythin' ta do wi' me since Ioreth—"

She stopped herself, not wanting to repeat the horrible past. Belador once again stepped up to her, this time taking her into his arms. He rubbed her back gently as he said, "I repeat, lass: Don't ye think ye should let Fíli make tha' choice for 'imself? Tell 'im the truth, and let 'im make up 'is own mind—stop makin' it up for 'im. If he walks away like t'others have, then 'e's not worthy of ye."

Unable to help herself, Melindë began to cry. Belador rocked her back and forth until she was spent, and when she was down to sniffles, she stepped back and looked up at him with a weak smile. "What did I e'er do ta deserve the likes o' ye? Why did ye nae run away like everyone else?"

"First, ye were me friend. And second, 'cause me mum and dad didnae raise no spineless bastard."

Belador lifted his hands to her face and held it gently. "Wha' happened was nae yer fault, Melindë. Ye've got ta stop blamin' yerself," he said. "Now go and find yer dwarf an' tell 'im wha' happened. Give 'im a chance ta prove or nae if he's got more brains than the lot o' the Valley rabble."

He kissed her brow then and turned to leave. Melindë moved to the wash stand and splashed water on her face, then reached for a towel to dry her skin and blow her nose. She was glad she didn't have a mirror on the boat; she had to look horrible right now—crying always made her nose red, her skin blotchy, and her eyes swollen.

But maybe Belador was right. Maybe she really did need to just find Fíli and tell him why she was the laughingstock of the Valley. She really had been miserable since fleeing the Falling Rock and leaving that charming blond dwarf behind, and at least if she confessed the sins of the past, she'd know for sure one way or another if he was different or just like the others.

Drawing a deep breath, she left her cabin and headed out on deck. The crew was busy checking the hundreds of yards of rope and netting, preparing for their next trip out to the bay. Her eyes fell on the small table and chairs she'd commissioned at Grehkin's, the ones Fíli said he'd built himself, and felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

"All right, lads, I'm heading into town," she called out. "Belador, do nae let the boat burn down while I'm gone."

"Aye, Cap'n," Belador replied, and gave her an encouraging thumbs-up.

Once on shore, Melindë went to the small stable beside her house and saddled her horse. Twenty minutes later, she tied the stallion to a hitching post in the east entrance staging area and headed for Grehkin's Wood Furnishings.

"Hello, Miss Melindë," the owner greeted her when she stepped through the door.

Her spirits lifted a fraction; Grehkin was one of the few dwarves who didn't turn up his nose at her.

" _Suilaid_ , Master Grehkin. Is Master Fíli in today?" she asked, hoping her nerves hadn't been evident in her voice.

"He was, but the boy's gone to his cousin's housewarming party. You must've seen the crowd if you came through the east entrance," Grehkin told her. "Apparently the 'hobbit hole' is a rather eye-catching sight. Been hearing talk of it for the last few weeks. Was about to close up early to have a look myself—Fíli said I was more than welcome to come by. Might even run into Princess Rejna, as she's apparently a friend of the family. Oh, if I weren't already a happily married dwarf…"

Melindë had to grin at his cheekiness. "I 'ave heard the princess is a lovely dam, though some of yer ladies, ye know we Men cannae tell they're not lads."

Grehkin snorted as he walked around the counter. "Well, with this lass you can, Miss Melindë—and for a beardless dam, she's a mighty fine one to look at."

Her brow furrowed as she followed him out the door. "Beardless? I thought all dams grew beards jus' like yer males do?"

"Most do," Grehkin replied as he locked the shop door. "But the influence of you daughters of Men… Some of our dams actually bloody shave on purpose, to look more like you. Some just to fit in, some in the hopes of attracting a husband from among your males. Word in the mountain is Her Highness finds interaction with Edain less complicated if she actually 'looks like a female'."

He snorted again and shook his head as though it were nonsense, and Melindë had to stifle a giggle. When they reached the staging area she collected her horse and they walked together around the side of the mountain. How she had not noticed the small crowd of people milling about 'round the side of the mountain she could not say.

She also wasn't entirely sure she understood why Grehkin said there was a housewarming party going on—all she could see was a large mound of grass-covered earth…

… _that people were walking in and out of_.

Intrigued, Melindë moved closer, searching for a place she might tie up Tanimon so she could check it out for herself, not to mention search for Fíli. She spied a scrub tree not far from the mound and led the stallion over to it, wrapping the reins loosely around a branch so that he could graze.

The closer she stepped, the more nervous she became. What would he say when he saw her? What would _she_ say to _him_? How on Arda did a person begin such a conversation as she needed to have with him?

There were windows in the mound! she noticed suddenly, and felt a smile come to her face. Moving around toward the front, Melindë counted four round windows, and at the front two smaller ones were set on either side of a round yellow door, which stood open. The front of the mound, which faced the River Ringlo, was comprised of a length of stone and concrete into which the door and windows were set, and it suddenly occurred to her that all the windows probably were, but that she could not see much of the rest of the walls for the grass and ivy laid over the structure, which from a distance definitely made it look like an ordinary mound of earth.

Melindë wondered what the inside looked like, but felt odd about just walking in uninvited. Besides, though it was surely a marvelous place, she was not here to see the hobbit hole. She needed to find Fíli.

Looking among the dwarves who were marveling over the house, she saw one that stood with a regal air about him. His hair was long and black with a few streaks of gray, but what struck her most were his eyes—they were almost the exact same shade of blue as Fíli's. She wondered if this was the uncle he'd told her about during that unfortunate dinner. Taking a deep breath to shore up her nerve, she approached and took a chance, saying a silent prayer that this fellow actually knew the dwarf she was looking for.

 _Elbereth, give me strength_.

"Pardon me, sir," she said, and he turned his head toward her. "But ye would nae happen ta know a blond dwarf goes by the name o' Fíli, would ye?"

The dwarf before her studied her face for a moment before he nodded. "Aye. Fíli is my nephew. I am Thorin, son of Targo, here to serve you."

Thorin placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head with the formal greeting. When he raised his eyes to hers again, she offered a nod of her own. "I am Melindë, daughter of Morren. _Le suilon_ , Master Thorin."

"I believe Fíli is inside, Miss Melindë. I'll take you to him," Thorin said.

She was about to protest that she could find him on her own, but Thorin had already turned and stepped through the door, so she could do naught but follow. The ceiling was low-set on the inside, perfect for dwarves, and though she was taller than they, she was glad it was not so low that she had to duck her head—there was maybe a six-foot distance between floor and ceiling. If Belador was here, however…

Moving through the dwarves standing around inside—and a small number of her own kind—Thorin led her to an open dining room-kitchen area. Fíli was standing at what looked to be a prep counter pouring a drink from a keg. He was the only one there not smiling, and her heart squeezed in her chest to think she was the cause of his unhappiness.

" _Irakdashat_ , someone has come to see you," Thorin said then.

Fíli looked up, his eyes going wide as he noticed who stood beside his uncle. "Melindë," he said, surprise in his voice.

Melindë swallowed. "'Ello, Fíli."

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 **Sindarin:**

 _Gi suilon, Aran_ Dáin – I greet thee (familiar), King Dáin

 _nethig nín_ – my little sister

 _Suilaid_ – Greetings

 _Le suilon_ – I greet thee (formal/reverential)

 **Khuzdul:**

 _dashatu laszûna_ – son of a whore (lit. son of lust-lady; I figured "lust-lady" was a good equivalent for "prostitute" or "whore", neither of which appear in the Dwarrow Scholar Khuzdul dictionary)


	44. Chapter 44

**So many reviews for chapter 43, I love it! Thanks ever so much to my Rockstar Reviewers: readpink, ThatOtherWriterGirl, gginsc, dojoson41, dearreader, Robinbird79, xoxo, Celebrisilweth, Emina, Aashi, and SethadoreVGC. You all are awesome! Thanks also to Adoniss for clicking the favorite button, and to every other person out there who reads and follows in silence.**

 **dojoson41 - You gotta remember, Balin and Dwalin are brothers, and Balin was mighty angry that his brother didn't confide in him.**

 **dearreader - You'll have to wait and see on that, lol!**

 **xoxo - It's quite possible the actor was wearing some form of eyeliner in the promo shot I used, but I could not say for sure. I did nothing to the actors when I made the cover but cut them from their original backgrounds.**

 **Emina - I am so very happy that you're still reading my story, thank you so much! And it's okay about Daniella's pieces. Elise told me going through her work was hard for her, and I knew it was going to be a while. I'm just so very glad I'll be able to share a little more of her writing as relates to this world because I know how excited Daniella was to be writing it. Take all the time you have to, I will gladly wait for the gift I am sure her work will be.**

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 **44\. Dark Before Dawn**

"Loving can hurt/loving can hurt sometimes/But it's the only thing that I know."

~ Ed Sheeran, _Photograph_

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Fíli set down the drink in his hand and came around the counter.

He stopped before her, and Melindë was surprised when he reached up to gently cup her head at the nape and pull her down so that her brow touched his. She knew this gesture was significant to dwarves, an action reserved for those who were family. Why was he—?

"I have missed you," he whispered.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes at his words. Melindë reached up to cover his hand with her own. "I've missed ye too," she confessed.

And she had. It did not matter that she knew him hardly at all—that charming manner of his was incredibly endearing. And that kiss! That completely unexpected but oh-so-wonderful kiss… It was a serious breach of social custom for a male to kiss a female without her permission, let alone one with whom he'd been acquainted a mere minute. But she had been so completely surprised by it, and the tempered passion with which he had claimed her mouth had driven her to kiss him back; the smell and taste of him branding the handsome dwarf onto her very soul. Besides, he'd apologized to her for his bold action and promised that he would ask for the next one.

And yet she had still pushed him away. She'd felt no other recourse open to her at the time, but standing here with him now, no doubt with a dozen or more pairs of eyes on them, she could only berate herself for walking away from him.

Fíli took a step back, though he kept hold of her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I need ta talk to ye, about somethin' very important," she replied. "But I do nae wish ta spoil the evenin' for ye and yer family."

He'd just opened his mouth to respond when suddenly another, somewhat taller dwarf appeared beside him. The other threw his arm about Fíli's shoulders as he said, "Wow, looks as though I'm not the only one with a thing for redheads—you didn't tell me about the red hair, _nadad_."

Fíli scowled at the dwarf, who ignored him as he took his right arm from around his shoulders and held his hand out. "Hi, I'm Kíli—the better-looking taller brother, despite being younger by five years. Don't believe anything this one says about me, it's all lies."

There was an animal by his side that must be Thafar; Melindë had been amazed by the story of how Fíli's new cousin-by-marriage had saved three wolf pups when their mother had died, and how each had chosen a particular person in their family to be especially loyal to. She recalled now seeing a black one next to Thorin. The two wolves were now sniffing each other.

She was shaking Kíli's hand as Fíli snorted. "You wish, _naddith_. You know perfectly well it's all true."

Kíli looked to him. "Even the lies?"

Fíli grinned. "Especially the lies."

Some of her tension melted away to see a smile on Fíli's face, prompting a slight one to form on her own. "Aren't you two quite the pair," she said.

"Whatever you do, do _not_ encourage them," came Thorin's voice as he moved around to her right—she'd all but forgotten he was even there. "It has long been my experience that to do so inevitably leads to regret."

He reached forward and snagged Kíli by the arm. "Come away and let your brother have some peace with his One."

Kíli's eyes widened, but he nonetheless complied. Melindë stared after them for a moment, the two wolves trailing behind their masters, before she looked to Fíli and said, "What did he mean by that?"

A sigh escaped him. "It's something very important _I_ wanted to talk to _you_ about, but I'd rather do so in private. How about we just enjoy the party for now, and we'll talk later when there aren't so many ears around?"

She offered him another tentative smile. "I think I'd like that."

Fíli nodded, and after offering her the drink he'd just poured, he got another for himself and then led her through the house. Melindë marveled at the round hallways, the round doors, and the round windows—the latter reminding her of the portholes on her ship. There were four large bedrooms, and in the master he showed her the magnificent headboard he had made as a gift, which he had designed to look much like the front of the house, with two small windows and a round door.

"And look here, the door even opens," he said, reaching over and pulling on the handle in the middle to reveal a little cabinet with three shelves.

"Oh, now that's charming," she said.

"And I absolutely love it," said a female voice behind them.

Melindë turned to find a tall, gruff-looking dwarf standing in the doorway with a female that barely reached his shoulder. She had large ears that came to a point, a wide smile, and tufts of hair on the tops of her bare feet.

She also had beads in her hair similar to the ones the dwarf wore in his beard, and her knowledge of dwarf culture—limited though it was—led Melindë to thinking that this was a mated pair. The white wolf she'd heard tell of was standing next to his mistress, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"Hello there," the female said as she stepped forward, holding out her hand. "I'm Larkspur Took of the Shire."

She turned to the balding dwarf, who had moved up beside her. "And this is my husband Dwalin, son of Fundin."

"Here to serve you, my Lady," Dwalin said in a gentler voice than she had imagined he possessed, bowing his head as he did so. "Welcome to our new home."

Heat colored her cheeks as Melindë recalled telling Fíli she was not considered a lady. Either seeing her embarrassment or sensing it, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and when she looked at him he wore only a smile. Once again her tension eased to see the expression on his face, though she knew once she had explained, it would likely not remain for long.

"Do you like the house?" Larkspur asked then. "Oh, isn't it wonderful? I can hardly believe my Dwalin did this for me. It's a little piece of home."

"Home?" Melindë asked, confusion knitting her brow.

"My home. Well, my old home in the Shire. I'm a hobbit, you see," the other female explained. "'Tis up north in Eriador, near Lake Evendim. Halflings we're also called. Our homes in the Shire are constructed under hills, like this one—though Dwalin here had to build the house first and put the earth on top of it. Still, looks just like the hills back home."

The last she said with a sigh, and leaned into Dwalin when he put an arm around her and touched his lips to her hair.

Melindë nodded slowly. "I'm afraid I 'ave nae heard o' hobbits. Fíli said 'is family had been here 'round a month, but I've been out at sea 'til a week ago. Put the catch off the boat an' all, was at market fer sellin' it, and in a day or two we'll be at it again."

"Do you really have to go so soon?" Fíli asked.

She looked at him. "I 'ave accounts what need payin', Fíli. Which means I 'ave ta work ta pay 'em."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but then appeared to change his mind. "Let's not have any more talk of work—we're having a party!" Larkspur said in a bright voice. "Have you had anything to eat yet? There's food aplenty and you look like you could use a good meal, little as you are."

Melindë had to chuckle. She'd always been on the thin side, though her build was deceptive in that she was actually rather strong. She'd built up a good deal of muscle working the lines and hauling in full nets that she usually hid under loose tunics with wide arms, such as the one she wore now.

It was bitterly ironic that she was considered "manly" because she worked on a fishing boat, and yet the only reason she did was because of the very incident which had led to the reason she was no longer considered a lady. She simply could not win for losing.

Though the purpose for which she had come here was never far from her mind, Melindë managed to enjoy herself. Only one or two people looked at her strangely, and it took only a scowl from Fíli—who remained by her side the entire time, save for when she'd had to use the bathroom—to turn their eyes away from her. She drank only a little ale, ate far too much food, and laughed until her sides ached at the antics of Fíli and his brother, neither of whom seemed able to resist an opportunity to tease the other.

Soon enough, however, the people who had been invited to the housewarming began to drift away. Before she knew it, there was only her, Fíli and his family, Princess Rejna—Grehkin had been delighted when she showed up—and her bodyguard.

"Would you like to go for a walk or something, so we can talk?" Fíli asked.

Melindë looked around at his family, at the princess (who'd proven not to be a pretentious snob of a dwarf, as she'd always imagined royals to be), and decided that she may as well get it over with then and there. They would all be told eventually, whether by Fíli or by hearing about her from folk in the Valley. That she had been at the party, had been seen in close proximity to Fíli and his kin, to Princess Rejna… no doubt tongues were already wagging.

"Why do nae we just sit down 'ere?" she said, clearly surprising him. Fíli nodded, however, and led her to a chair by the fireplace. When the others made to leave them alone, she bid them stay.

"Ye're all like ta hear the sordid tale at some point," she told them. "I'd rather ye hear the truth from me before yer opinions are sullied with lies."

Drawing a deep breath, Melindë began. "Ten years past, when I were a girl of sixteen, me mum died in childbirth. 'Twas a surprise baby, considering me age then, but we were all so happy about it. Me little brother died as well, and Dad never really got over it. He got 'imself into some trouble drinkin' and gamblin' in the south taverns, and was forced ta sell a few o' the boats ta pay 'is debts.

"Or so he told me. Turns out 'e was in deeper than 'e said, and in a desperate attempt ta save what we had left 'e arranged a marriage between me and the son o' his biggest investor, who at the time owned more o' the boats than we did."

When Fíli growled softly, she looked to him with a sad expression. "Do nae be upset with me dad, Fíli. I knew what were at stake and I agreed ta the match. And at first, Ioreth was a nice lad. He was twenty, a few years older than I, and he treated me kindly."

"Why do I get the feeling that didn't last?" Kíli grumbled.

She scoffed. "Because it didn't, Master Kíli. Ioreth had been given command o' one o' the boats 'is dad owned. I went ta visit 'im there as he'd asked me ta do one evenin', and 'twas when 'e showed 'is true colors."

Her mind went backward in time as she recounted the tale, and she was completely unable to stop the memory from taking over…

 _"My father's quite happy with our little arrangement, Melindë," Ioreth said. "He's keen that my heirs will have true Dúnedain blood."_

 _Melindë frowned. "How did ye know about that? We do nae talk of it with anyone."_

 _"Because my father is a very intelligent man," said her betrothed with a slight sneer, which caused her to frown. "And yours is not very bright. Only a few pints one night and he told us everything."_

 _"I don't believe ye. He would nae 'ave done that."_

 _Ioreth smiled, and for the first time the expression sent a chill down her spine. "You and I are to be married, my simple country girl. You do understand what that means, don't you?"_

 _She looked down at her hands. "Aye. As ye said, I'm ta give ye heirs."_

 _He stood and came around the table, lifted her chin as he said, "Why don't we get started on that?"_

 _Melindë felt her eyes widen. "We cannae! We're nae married yet!" she protested._

 _She tried to move her head back but he'd tightened his grip. "You are my wife, girl, by right if not yet by law. You will do as you are told and you_ will _service me."_

 _Ioreth held her even tighter as he brought his mouth down on hers. She pushed against his shoulders to no avail, and when she refused to let his tongue past her lips, he grabbed her by the hair with his other hand and pulled, hard. She could not help but open her mouth to cry out, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue inside to tangle it with her own. He only broke contact when he needed to draw a breath, though his tight hold of her hair remained._

 _"Ioreth, please! I do nae want ta do this!" she begged, her eyes going wide as he began to unsnap his trousers._

 _He pulled her from the chair and forced her onto her knees as he freed his already rigid flesh. "And I don't care what you want. Now open your mouth, or I will force it open."_

"I fought 'im," Melindë said, the tears she could no longer hold in check streaming down her cheeks. "I fought 'im and I screamed fer help, but no one came. Fer hours and hours 'e violated me, beatin' me when I tried ta resist 'im, and I could nae do a thing ta stop it. And when 'e finally fell asleep, I gathered me torn dress about me as best I could, and I went home. I stayed in bed for three days—I didnae eat, I barely slept, and I cried all the time. Finally me dad comes in, and says Ioreth's talkin' all o'er the Valley 'bout how easy it were ta make me give up me virtue, and how he's thinkin' a loose girl's not proper wife material.

"'Twas when I told me dad what really happened. Oh, I'd ne'er seen 'im so furious. He confronted Ioreth, who stuck ta 'is version o' the story. And in a blind rage, me dad picked up a net hook and beat 'im ta death with it. Dad was arrested for murder and hanged, and Ioreth's father took everythin' 'e could get 'is hands on as compensation for 'is 'grievous loss.' I managed ta keep our house only with the help o' a few friends. The one boat I 'ave it took me seven years ta buy back, and I've nae yet got it paid off so technically I still do nae own it. But 'tis the one Dad named after me mum, so I had ta get 'er back."

She looked up finally at Fíli's face to where he sat across from her. His expression was a dark cloud of anger. "Ioreth's father kept on with 'is son's version o' things, paintin' me as loose, usin' any and all opportunities ta talk about how me dad killed 'is boy, up until 'e died of a heart attack a year ago. That's why folk talk about me. Why they whisper, or point and laugh. In their eyes, me dad's a murderer and I'm a harlot."

A vicious snarl erupted from Fíli as he surged from his chair; Melindë yelped, startled by the action, and felt her heart break when he stormed out of the house. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed, and did not hear Princess Rejna when she suggested his kinsmen go after him. She was unaware at first when the dam's arms went around her, but the warmth of the embrace soon seeped past her sorrow and she leaned into her as she cried.

"There now, love," Rejna whispered. "It'll be all right."

"I…I told Bel…Belador he would nae…that Fíli would nae want me…when he knew," Melindë stuttered.

"Oh sweetheart," said Larkspur, who knelt and took a hand in hers. "Fíli didn't leave because he does not want you. He left so he wouldn't tear the house apart, I'd imagine."

"She's right, lass," said a male voice, one it took her pain-filled brain a moment to recognize—Árni, the princess' bodyguard. "It's a dwarf thing: Anytime harm comes to our One, or they are in any way threatened, we are consumed with rage. The need to excise our pain and anger through violence is nigh uncontrollable. I daresay Fíli's pissed and just needs to blow off some steam."

"But he's not angry at you," Rejna said. "Dear Mahal, no—he's not angry with you. He's angry _for_ you, and I've no doubt he does not want you to see him in such a state. It also causes him great pain that his One was hurt, and because it happened years ago he can do nothing about it."

Melindë sniffled as she pulled away from the princess, and looked around at the three sympathetic faces before her. "What does that even mean? Thorin called me Fíli's One earlier, but I do nae understand what that means."

Larkspur looked to Rejna, who looked to Árni, then looked back to her and said, "I don't know if it's right we should explain it to you…"

The hobbit gave the hand she held a gentle squeeze. "When I met Dwalin, I learned that dwarves firmly believe in soulmates. That their maker, whom they call Mahal, has already chosen for each dwarrow his or her mate—the One person in all of creation who is their perfect match. The ice to their fire, or fire to their ice."

She blinked as Larkspur's explanation sunk in. "Ye mean ta tell me Fíli think's I'm 'is soulmate?!" They all nodded. "But that's got ta be impossible! I'm ruined!"

"No, my dear, you are not."

Melindë whirled to see Thorin standing in the entryway. He looked for a moment to Larkspur and said, "Dwalin will return as soon as he and Kíli have helped Fíli rein in his temper—I am afraid, however, that a few of your shrubs will need replanting."

He walked further into the parlor. Rejna and Larkspur moved aside for him as he knelt down in front of her. "Melindë, what happened to you was not your fault. It does not ruin you. Our Maker does not choose our mates lightly—much thought is given to whom each dwarf is best paired with, whose heart will beat in rhythm with ours. If you were not worthy of my nephew, Mahal would not have chosen you."

She smiled weakly at Larkspur when she handed her a handkerchief. After drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she asked, "But why me? I 'ave nothin' ta give ta Fíli. And I know how important honor is ta yer kin—how can Fíli keep 'is with me?"

"Fíli would keep his honor by accepting that you are the Maker's choice for him. He would honor himself and you by defending you to those who would speak against you and by showing you that _you_ are his greatest treasure," said Árni softly.

A small sigh escaped Thorin, and he said, "And you would honor Fíli by letting him love you as you deserve to be loved. For a decade your soul has been crying out for relief from your pain—he can give that to you, if you will allow it."

Melindë studied Thorin's countenance and found only honesty there. Árni, Rejna, and Larkspur all wore much the same expression. "I do nae know what ta say."

"You don't have to say anything now. Why don't I take you and get you some tea, something to calm your nerves?" Larkspur suggested.

She nodded and Thorin stood out of her way. The little hobbit—though more than a foot shorter than she—put an arm around her waist in a motherly fashion and guided her to the dining room, where she bade her sit at the table while she prepared the tea.

"H…how long do ye think they'll be gone?" Melindë asked softly when Larkspur handed her a steaming cup some minutes later.

"Hard to say," she replied as she sat to her left with her own cup. "I've thankfully never had to see Dwalin that angry."

"And Fíli, 'e's… 'e's a good man? Dwarf, I mean."

Larkspur smiled. "Fíli is one of the best males I've had the honor to meet. Oh, he and Kíli like to joke around a fair bit, but that's what brothers do—I should know, I've seven meself."

"You have seven brothers?" Melindë asked, her surprise evident.

"Aye—seven wonderful, loving, overbearing, over-protective, pain-in-the-arse brothers. I miss them more than I thought I would."

"Then why did you leave the Shire?"

The expression Larkspur turned her way was one which could only be defined as loving. "Because I love Dwalin, and I knew his heart was not in the Shire—that he was a dwarf who would wither without his kin around him."

"But what about you? Will ye not also wither without yer kin around ye?" Melindë pressed.

"I have long wanted my own adventure, Melindë—to go out and see the world beyond the borders of my home. Yavanna granted my wish when she brought Dwalin and his kin to my cousin's door. They were always going to come here, and I knew I was going to come with them." She paused and took a drink of her tea. "I'll go back to visit someday. Not anytime soon, given I've a child coming."

Melindë's eyes widened, and she smiled softly. "A baby? Congratulations."

Larkspur grinned as a hand fell to her belly. "Thank you. Dwalin and I could not be happier, especially now that we've a proper home to bring the little one up in."

She cleared her throat, took another drink of the tea, and then reached over to put a hand on top of hers. "I can imagine that seeing Fíli so angry might've been a little frightening. But I've lived with him in my life for eight months now, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that no matter how angry he gets—at you, at himself, at the world—he will _never_ take that anger out on you. A dwarf would rather cut off a limb than hurt his or her One. You will never be forced to do anything you don't want to do, and he will spend the rest of his life doing whatever it takes to make you happy."

She snorted softly then. "He'll also be an over-protective grizzly bear, but he will accept it anytime you tell him you need space."

They finished their tea in silence, and then Melindë suddenly remembered Tanimon was tied up to a bush. Larkspur told her to stay where she was and took the matter to Thorin. When the hobbit returned, she and Asrân led her to one of the spare bedrooms and Larkspur invited her to lie down.

"I know the bed's a little on the small side, but you look exhausted," she said.

"I _feel_ exhausted," Melindë confessed. "I s'pose it would nae hurt ta rest for a bit. Ye'll let me know when Fíli comes back?"

Larkspur nodded. "Of course I will."

With a sigh, Melindë laid down on the bed and drew her knees to her chest. Her eyes fell closed and she was asleep in minutes. Larkspur was quiet as she stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

 **-...-**

"Princess, are you certain?"

Rejna raised an eyebrow. "Captain, please. Miss Melindë's horse cannot be far. It should not take you but a few minutes to fetch him and bring him here."

She looked to Thorin, found his expression impassive, then looked back to her bodyguard and said, "I give you my word of honor I shall not leave this house until you return."

Árni looked between them, his gaze lingering on Thorin, then he gave a nod and headed for the door. For the first time, she and her One were alone.

Should she tell him now? she wondered. Her father had been encouraging her to do so since he'd confessed he had checked up on Thorin. She now knew how old he was—her judgment had not been far off when she'd guessed him to be nearly a century older than herself. And she'd been right about something else: he thought he was too old to get married, as her father had cleverly needled that out of him as well.

" _Tell him he is your One, Rejna_. _Thorin strikes me as an honorable dwarrow—he will not defy Mahal's will_."

No, it was not a good idea—at least, not right now. Likely Thorin's thoughts were full of concern for Fíli and Melindë, who had not had the best of beginnings to their life together.

"Do you think he is right?"

Rejna blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Thorin's gaze remained on the open round door Árni had just gone through. "Árni told Melindë that Fíli's honor would remain intact by accepting her as his One. Do you agree?"

She frowned. "Of course I agree. You told her yourself that what happened was not her fault, that she was not ruined because of it. If Fíli truly believes that she is his One, he would not hold her past against her."

"If you knew a dwarf who believed he had found his One but struggled with Mahal's choice, what would you say to him?"

Where was this coming from? Rejna wondered. "Well, I would advise him to pray to the Maker for guidance. I would ask him why he struggled—what about the lass did he not agree with?"

Thorin turned to her at last, his gaze searching. "And what if it were not the lass with which he disagreed? What if the fault he found was in himself?"

Rejna frowned again. "I'm afraid you've lost me, Thorin. Does Fíli for some reason feel he is unworthy of Melindë?"

"I do not speak of Fíli."

It was but a moment before she understood he was referring to himself. But it did not make sense—he was _her_ One! He could not possibly be saying that he had met his One in another lass…

"I am too old for you. It would be an unkindness to ask you to bind yourself to me when I cannot give you a lifetime."

The way he blinked then told Rejna he could not believe he had made that confession. She could hardly believe it herself—Thorin had also felt the connection between them? She was as much his One as he was hers?

She took a breath then…and decided to take a chance. "Thorin… Would you not also be doing yourself an unkindness by denying yourself happiness in your remaining years?" she asked slowly. "Do you not think it ought to be my choice as to whether I accept what years we may have together?"

Moving closer to him, she raised a hand to place it over his heart. Even through his tunic and undershirt she felt the burn sear her palm, felt it race through her arm and flow into her heart. "None of us are even guaranteed tomorrow. You once spoke to me of your sister, who married younger than I am now. How many years did she have with her One before he was taken from her? From their children?"

"I am but a blacksmith now. A simple tradesman is not worthy of a princess," he whispered.

"If we believe it is Mahal's will, no one will question that," she retorted.

His scent wafted up her nose as she breathed, more intoxicating to her than the ale she had consumed, and it was an effort not to erase the inches that remained between them. "I cannot force you to give yourself over to Mahal's will or my own, I can only tell you that I _will_ take whatever time we may have—for it is not number of years we are given that matters, but the life that we give to our years."

Thorin stared at her for the space of a heartbeat, and then the next thing Rejna knew he had drawn her body against his and crushed her lips beneath his own.


	45. Chapter 45

**My Rockstar Reviewers are too generous to me. Robinbird79, readpink, readergirl4985, dearreader, gginsc, ThatOtherWriterGirl, ValarenofGondor, Aashi, and yshxf - thank you all SO MUCH for your reviews of chapter 44. It was definitely about time Thorin gave in to fate, wasn't it? Thanks also to Pergjithshme for your reviews of the earlier chapters, and also to veganfrienchie, Bluesurf07, and RedTaz35 for clicking on the favorite and follow buttons! And of course, I do thank my silent readers.**

 **dearreader - Fíli wasn't meant to be a distraction, lol. But then Thorin wasn't originally going to confess his feelings that night, either. It was something that just sort of happened as I was writing the chapter.**

 **gginsc - Isn't it though? I do not know why, but Thorin just would not let go of that whole age thing. But fate is fate, and he wasn't going to be able to ignore it forever.**

 **Aashi - Indeed he has. The dunderhead realized he couldn't fight that feeling anymore (total REO Speedwagon moment for him). Of course Fíli's kin were kind to poor Melindë, she'd been through hell. Dwarves take the treatment of their females VERY seriously, and if Ioreth was not already dead, he soon would have been. I daresay Fee would have found a way to kill him and not get caught.**

* * *

 **45\. Meant to Be**

* * *

Thorin backed her up against the fireplace as Rejna fisted her hands into his hair.

What the _razâd_ had he been waiting for? The taste of her mouth was ecstasy—sweet and salty, filled with a hint of the ale and food she'd consumed and something else he could not quite define, but that he knew instinctively was unique to his One.

His One. There was no denying it now that he had kissed her. There would be no denying the demand of his body to claim her and make it clear to all the world that she was _his_.

She kissed him back with a desperation that was a match for his own, as though she had been waiting for this moment. One hand moved to her arse to bring her even tighter against him and she moaned with pleasure. Thorin trailed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, along her collarbone—noting that there were advantages to a dam having no beard, as he rather liked the smoothness of her skin. He wanted more of her, knew he would never get enough.

A throat cleared behind them. "That'll be quite enough for now."

He wanted to growl but settled for a groan as he reluctantly tore his mouth from hers. Rejna's teeth caught his bottom lip and she tugged it before she released him. Her breathing was as shallow, her pulse as rapid, as his own when he touched his brow to hers.

"Mine," he said, his voice breathless.

"Always," she replied.

Thorin did not want to step back, did not want to stop touching her, and it was an effort to make himself do as propriety demanded. He snagged her hand in his and laced their fingers together to face the bodyguard whose interruption was both timely and unwanted.

"It's about sodding time," Árni said when their gazes met. "Though I've lost my wager with Dwalin—I thought it would be at least another month before you gave in."

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin noted Rejna scowling. "What?! You made a wager against your princess and commanding officer?"

"Actually I bet against Thorin," Árni said. "Oh come on, Rejna, don't look at me like that! It's been plain as day to anyone with half a mind to even look at you that the two of you have been dancing around each other since the day you met. You, of course, weren't denying the connection between you, but he was."

A sigh escaped her and Thorin looked over as she said, "I did not deny it, but neither did I openly admit it."

"You believed me to be your One?" Thorin asked.

Rejna lifted her gaze to his. "I had my suspicions from the night I first met you, but the day you toured the palace, I knew. My father has been encouraging me to tell you, but I could not."

"Why?"

"Because you were not ready," she said softly. "I knew you would need more time to accept the Maker's will."

She tilted her head then and studied him. "What made you do it? It cannot be mere words said to a troubled girl to assure her she would be cared for."

"No, it was not," he replied. "It was words said to a troubled dwarf, by his Maker and his One."

When her brow knit in confusion, Thorin smiled, lifting his free hand to caress her cheek. "Mahal spoke to me the day your father came to officially welcome us to his kingdom, though I now suspect he came to make out my character. I wondered why no one seemed to understand my feeling that I am too old for you, and I heard Mahal's voice in my head. He also told me that it was not the number of years given that matters."

Rejna smiled. "But the life given to those years," she repeated.

He nodded. "I still feel that it is not right we should be given so little time together. How can you be okay with knowing we likely have less than a hundred years—?"

She halted his words by placing a finger to his lips. "Do I wish we would have more time together? Of course I do. But you are the Maker's choice for me, Thorin—how can I not accept you? It matters not to me how many or how few years we will share, so long as we share them. Let us rejoice in that we have even found each other at all, as not every dwarrow is so fortunate."

Thorin drew her to him once more and held her in a tight embrace. "I do not deserve you."

Rejna laughed. "You underestimate yourself."

When he held her away from him, Thorin searched her gaze. "And you are sure a blacksmith is enough for you? Would you not rather have a king?"

"Thorin, remember to whom you speak. I am Crown Princess of Dwarrowvale—in marrying me, one day you will _be_ King."

He felt his eyes widen—why had he never considered that? Had he been made to relinquish the kingship in Erebor because he would become king here?

 _Now, my son, you begin to see. Though it is not merely so you_ would _become king_ — _you are_ needed _as king_.

He knew he was frowning by the look Rejna was giving him. _What do you mean, I am needed?_

"Thorin?"

They were interrupted yet again by the return of Fíli. Kíli, Thafar, and Dwalin entered close on his heels.

"Where's Melindë?"

"Oh, you're back at last," said Larkspur as she came in from the direction of the dining room, Asrân as always at her side. "Come with me, Fee, I'll take you to her."

Fíli complied immediately and followed Larkspur into the hall. "How is he?" Thorin asked, directing his question at Dwalin.

For a moment his cousin eyed him, and Thorin was aware when he took note that Rejna's hand was in his. Dwalin raised one eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest, but said only, "He was having a rough time of it. Ripped a few small trees from the bank of the river, hurled a few large rocks clear across it."

"Don't forget that he threw some knives too. I'm only a little surprised he wasn't screaming," Kíli put in. "But then Fee's always been the suffer-in-silence type. He seemed more intent on destroying the foliage than anything, though I don't doubt for a moment that it's a good thing that _kakhf ilkis_ Ioreth is already dead."

Thorin nodded. "Aye. Were he not, Fíli would surely have hunted him down as Melindë's father did."

Larkspur returned then, going immediately to her husband's side. "Please, can we have no more talk of death in this house? I've not even got to live in it a full day as yet."

"We should go, Princess," Árni said. "His Majesty will be wondering where you are."

Thorin looked to Rejna as she was lifting her face to look at him. "Will you walk with us?" she asked.

He bowed his head. "Of course, Princess."

 **-...-**

Dwalin, Larkspur, and Kíli watched with barely contained amusement as first Árni and then Thorin, hand-in-hand with Princess Rejna, walked out of the house. They all laughed as soon as they'd gone.

"It's about bloody time," Kíli said with a grin.

"Aye, that it is, laddie. Personally I cannot imagine why he resisted—Rejna is a beautiful dam, and she is Mahal's choice for him."

"How long do you think it will be until they announce their betrothal?" Larkspur asked.

"No more than a month for the engagement," Kíli replied. "And then the wedding on Durin's Day."

Dwalin's choking cough caused the younger dwarf to frown. "What?"

"Nothing," Dwalin said. "It's just that… Well, that's the day Bard and Tauriel got married back in '42."

Kíli shrugged. "So? It's a dwarrow holiday, thus it is a perfect day for a dwarrow wedding—and Thorin is still Durin's heir. Besides, Balin and Nori will be here by then, and I cannot _wait_ to see their faces when they find out Thorin's getting married."

"Don't put your cart before your pony, Kíli," Larkspur warned him. "From the looks of things, Thorin and the princess have just acknowledged their feelings for one another. Give them time for a proper courtship, for Yavanna's sake."

"Oi, you're the one who was just asking how long before they were engaged," Kíli retorted, shaking a finger at her. "Two months is really not an unusual length of time between acknowledgement and completion for a dwarf couple."

"I hate to say it, but he's right, _Kardûna_ ," Dwalin told her. "I'd have been more than willing to marry you the very next day after realizing you were my One, but I fully understood you would need more time than that."

Kíli drew a breath and released it, then walked toward the door, stopping before he reached it to place a hand on each of their shoulders. "All of my boys are happy—or will be, thank Mahal. What more could a dwarf ask for?"

Before either could reply, he whirled about and walked away, calling over his shoulder that he would return the next afternoon to help Dwalin get started on the stable. Larkspur looked to her husband and sighed when the door had shut behind him and Thafar.

"He could ask for some happiness for himself, that one," she said.

"Aye, he could. If anything at all were unfair, it would be for Kíli to not know the gift of having his One in his life."

"Speaking of, I know it's our first night in this incredible house you built, my love, but I told Fíli that he and Melindë could stay as long as needed. She was asleep when I let him into the room where she was resting," Larkspur said then. "Asrân is with them."

"That's quite all right, _Kardûna_ ," Dwalin told her, looking down at her with a smile. "They're on the other side of the house from where we'll be—thus less likely to hear you as you moan my praises."

Larkspur giggled and pushed away from him, taunting him by pulling her blouse over her head as she backed toward the south hall. "Don't forget to lock the door," she called out in a sing-song voice before she tossed the garment in his face and ran for their bedroom.

Dwalin grinned at her use of the words she'd said to him on the night of their wedding, before he turned around, locked the door, and then went after his wife.

 **-...-**

For several moments, Fíli could only stare across the guest room at the figure on the bed. She was curled up—likely because it was a dwarf-sized bed—with one hand under her cheek. He would have hoped that slumber would bring her peace, but her expression was pinched as though she were still plagued with painful memories, and she shifted as though uncomfortable.

 _Oh, my sweet, sweet girl_ , he thought as he took a chair from over by the fireplace and moved it to the bedside. When he'd sat he took her free hand in his, and was relieved when her features relaxed and her fidgeting stopped. Her fingers, though tough and calloused from her work, were to him still quite delicate. They wrapped around his own thicker digits and held tight.

 _Mahal, why? Why did she suffer so?_ he wondered. He did not expect the Maker to answer him, but the questions remained.

A sense of comfort filled him. _The Thirdborn were given as much free will as your kin, my son, and it is regrettable that in some that will leads to evil deeds_.

 _Why did you choose her for me?_

 _Because she needs you. This child of the Dúnedain has suffered too much already. She has need of dwarrow strength now_ —your _strength, Fíli_. _She needs your protection._ _And I chose her because I know that in being healed by your love, she will one day return that love with far greater passion than any other female could have shown you_.

The Maker again brought up something of great interest—in her tale of horror, Melindë had mentioned she was of Dúnedain descent. Mahal had just confirmed it. That meant she was kin of great distance to Bronwë, whose lineage he knew was that of old Númenor.

His One would not die while he was still young. He would have… Well, he didn't know how many years, but according to Bronwë and Gilraen, the Dúnedain could live near as long as the average dwarf lifespan of 250 years—which meant that if Mahal continued to bless them, he would not outlive her by long.

 _Thank you, my Lord. Already I do not know how I could possibly live without her_.

The peaceful, comforting sensation touched him again, and Fíli smiled as he leaned his head back. He had no idea when he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, but when he opened them again, he found Melindë's sky blues watching him.

" _Melui naug nín_ ," she said softly.

He smiled. "That's Sindarin, isn't it?" Melindë nodded. "How is it you speak a dialect of Elvish?"

She sighed, then sat up slowly. Fíli moved from the chair to sit beside her on the bed, keeping her hand in his. "Most o' the Northmen, the Rohirrim, and me kin in Gondor are Edain, the Middle Men. But once this land and the northwest, Eriador and Arnor, were ruled by the last blood o' Númenor. Their allegiance with the elves in days o' old led ta the main Elvish dialect bein' as widely spoken as Westron, the Common Tongue. Not everyone in Gondor speaks it nowadays, but 'tis still quite common."

"In the north it's just the elves and the Dúnedain," he said, prompting her to look at him with questioning eyes. Fíli chuckled softly. "We met some Rangers of the North a couple years back. Most of them, from what we were told, are Dúnedain."

He tilted his head as he regarded her. "I had no idea there were Dúnedain in the south."

"'Tis because there are few of me mother's people left," she said. "Intermarriage between Dúnedain and Edain 'as spread the blood o' Númenor so thin in these lands it migh' as well not exist. Most o' it be concentrated in Dol Amroth, where although nae as long lived as in yesteryears, folk o' Númenórean descent still tend to live a good three or four decades longer than Edain—up ta a whole century, they say."

Concern now that he would not get many years with her after all flooded his veins. "And what of you? Is your line that of Dol Amroth?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "I am one o' the few true Dúnedain left in these parts, and the last descendant o' the kings of Gondor."

She scoffed. "Or so me mother said. It were an old story she used ta tell me when I were little, passed from one generation ta the next, from mother ta daughter, but 'tis bollocks, I say. Oh, 'tis a pretty story, ta be sure, that we be descended straight from a daughter o' Anárion, but e'ryone knows Isildur's heir is in the north, if he even really exists."

It was an intriguing story, Fíli mused. He could not help but wonder if there was any truth to it. "And what of Anárion? Our friends in the north told us something of their history, including the brothers Isildur and Anárion. Could the latter not also have an heir?"

"Anárion's descendants all went north after a time, and over the passing of the age the two lines became one and make up what is now the Dúnedain of the North," Melindë replied. "Like I said, 'tis an old, pretty story. Nothing more. If there be any other Dúnedain in the south, I do nae know any o' 'em save for me first mate, Belador, and his family."

She looked to him then, and he watched her studying his face. "Does it matter ta ye whether I be Dúnedain or one o' the Middle Men?"

Fíli raised a hand to cup her cheek; his skin burned at the contact and warmth spread through him, but he willed his lust into submission. Now was most definitely not the time for such thoughts. He needed to establish trust with Melindë before he could move forward in that direction. It would be a test of his self control, to be sure, and it was likely he would become even more intimately acquainted with his hand than he desired to be, but he would wait for however long he had to. She would let him know when she was ready.

"No, _Ibriz_. I will take whatever time we are given, be it a few years or many. Forever would be fantastic, sure, but as long as you allow me to be by your side, I will be happy if we are only given tomorrow."

Melindë turned her face into his palm and she lifted a hand to hold his in place. He watched her draw a deep breath and release it. "Do ye think…" she began, and suddenly her breath hitched; tears fell from beneath each of her closed eyelids and her grip on his hand tightened as she lowered it and held it in her lap. "Do ye think one day ye migh' love me, Fíli? With all tha's been done ta me, I'm a fair bit broken. Bein' used like I was, ye'll nae get ta be me first—"

Unable to bear anymore of her pain, Fíli silenced her by pressing his lips to hers—even though he'd promised to ask her before he kissed her again. There was no heat, no passion in the kiss, just a desperate need to show her that the past did not matter to him.

When he parted from her, he captured her gaze with his own and wiped her wet cheeks with his thumbs as he said softly, "I will still be your first. When one day you are ready to give yourself to me, I will be the first—and the last—to show you how a male should treat a female, how she should be touched with tenderness and passion, and you will know the pleasures to be had in laying with a male. There will be no pain, Melindë. No fear. Only love."

Fíli drew her into his arms and held her gently. Her head came to rest on his shoulder and she sighed. "Yes, _Ibriz_ , one day I will love you," he whispered.

 _I already do_ , he added silently. _And one day soon I hope to tell you so_.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _kakhf ilkis_ \- shit stain (lit. kakhf = fecal matter; ilkis = stain, blot)

 _Ibriz_ \- sun (a bright red one)


	46. Chapter 46

**Readpink, readergirl4985, dearreader, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, yshxf, Aashi... You all are my Rockstar Reviewers for chapter 45! Thank you all so much for the kind words. I live for reviews. Thanks also to Gabrielle607 and Lily Carmen Black for clicking the follow and favorite buttons, and more thanks to the silent readers.**

 **dearreader - I love the true love too! And Kíli's definitely getting a happy ending, it's just going to take a little longer for him. I hate to be so cruel to him, but it's just the way the story is going. Not my fault, Kee - blame my Muse!**

 **Aashi - I'm so happy you like Fíli and Melindë as a couple and that Thorin and Rejna's moment made you smile. I do not know that we'll see Gilraen again as yet, but Bronwë will be back sometime later (pay special attention to the end of this chapter for a note about her). And yes, it is so very refreshing to see a male/female friendship that has little to no chance of turning to romance. That is not at all where my friend Daniella wanted to take her character - she had another famous dwarf in mind for Bronwë!**

* * *

 **46\. So Much has Changed**

* * *

"I'm sorry, by the way."

Fíli's brow drew together. "What have you to be sorry for?" he asked.

Melindë sighed. "That I lied ta ye when first we met. I said we 'ad ten boats in our fleet. Truth be I only 'ave the _Morren_ —and barely at that."

She sat up and wiped at her face, and he saw the barest hint of a smile when Asrân stood from where he'd lain by the door and came over to lay his head on her knee. "'Tis true how we started, what I told ye about me granddad and all. And we did 'ave ten boats at one time, but with me dad's drinkin' and gamblin', and what he done after I told him 'bout Ioreth… We lost 'em all. I weren't no fisher 'til three years ago, when I'd finally saved enough ta get me mum's boat back."

Melindë lifted her eyes to his. "I'm sorry I lied," she said again. "I do nae know why I did, as ye'd surely 'ave found out the truth at some point. I can only guess that I wanted ta impress ye."

Fíli grinned. "I am flattered, _Ibriz_ , but it was completely unnecessary—I was already very much impressed."

A frown formed between her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"What does what mean?"

" _Ibriz_."

He smiled again. "It is a Khuzdul word that means 'a bright red sun.' Dwarrow often give pet names to those they care for."

Even in the dim light of the early evening, he could see a blush color her cheeks. "So 'tis an _epessë_ ," she said.

Fíli chuckled. "Now I need to know what you mean."

" _Epessë_ is a Sindarin word what means 'after-name'. I think the Common translation is 'nickname'."

He nodded. "Yes, that is precisely what it is. Would you care to know why I chose _Ibriz_?"

She nodded. "I would, yes."

Lifting a hand, he touched a lock of her hair resting on her shoulder. "For your red hair, and because you are now the sun of my life. I admit it was unintentional the first time I said it—sort of just popped out. But in the next instant my conscious brain caught up with my subconscious, and I realized how perfectly it fit you."

An eyebrow lifted. "And ye really do nae mind that yer Maker chose for ye a girl what's been beaten and abused and is a social pariah—and is nae even a dwarf?"

Fíli snorted softly. "I see someone's beaten me to the talk I wanted to have with you."

"Don't be cross with 'em. Captain Árni and Princess Rejna—not ta mention yer uncle—all referred ta me as yer One. I asked what it meant."

Fíli sighed, and taking one of her hands in his, he laced their fingers together. "Melindë, whether they admit it or not, every dwarf wants to meet his or her One. Some never get the chance. Of those that do, most are paired with other dwarves, but some, it would seem, are not. We don't know or understand why Mahal chooses one of another race, we just…accept it, because we trust our Maker. We know he would never choose someone that would be wrong for us. For my cousin Dwalin, his perfect match was a hobbit—and believe me, no one could have been more surprised than he. Hobbits are such gentle folk, and he can be such a bear—"

He paused when a soft snort escaped her. "What?"

"I'm sorry, 'tis just how Madam Larkspur described 'im, as an over-protective grizzly bear," she said. "Well, actually she said it about you, but it seems ta more describe Dwalin."

Fíli raised an eyebrow. "She said that about me, did she?"

Melindë nodded. "Aye."

"Dare I ask what else Lark said about me? Can't have her giving you the wrong impression, now," he said with a smirk.

His words and expression had the desired effect—Melindë laughed. Asrân lived up to his name then and whooed an echo. She laughed again, then said, "She actually said quite a lot o' nice things. How ye like ta cut up with Kíli as brothers tend ta do. How no matter how angry ye may get, ye'll never take it out on me—that a dwarf would rather cut off a limb than hurt their One. She said ye would give me space when I need it and…"

She looked down at their joined hands. "And how ye would do whate'er it takes ta make sure I'm happy."

He lifted a hand to her face again and brushed his thumb gently across her cheek. "And I will," he said softly. "Every word Larkspur said is true. A dwarf's One is his greatest treasure, Melindë—the greatest of gifts our Maker could ever give us.

"So to answer your question, no, I do not mind that you're not a dwarf—why would I, when Mahal has chosen for me such a stunningly beautiful female whose spirit has endured so much and yet remained strong? What I do mind—what I _hate_ —is that you were beaten and abused by someone who should have only cherished and protected you. But then you were never meant to be his—only mine."

Melindë stared at him for a moment, then said in a voice that was hardly even a whisper, "Fíli, will ye kiss me now?"

Fíli smiled. "With pleasure."

It was with tenderness that he brought his lips against hers, and he felt more than heard her sigh. In increments he increased the pressure; the firestorm ignited within him when she parted her lips to admit his tongue, and after nudging Asrân out of the way, Fíli gently pushed Melindë back so that they were lying on the bed. His body was screaming at him to take her, and it took every ounce of his willpower to resist and content himself with the kiss.

It was with a deep groan that he lifted his head to look at her some minutes later. For a moment Melindë's eyes remained closed, her breasts rising and falling with the shallowness of her breath. Oh Mahal, how he wanted to touch them, to taste them…

Fíli tore his eyes away from her and pushed himself to a sitting position. "Forgive me for getting carried away," he said.

"'Tis quite all right, _melui naug nin_ ," she said as she also sat herself up. "I've, um… I've heard dwarves can be quite passionate."

He grinned. "You have _no_ idea. I must admit that it is a concentrated effort not to take things further. The firestorm is demanding I make you mine, but I have no wish to do anything you're not ready for."

"What is the firestorm?"

Fíli drew a breath as he considered how to explain. "It is a condition that a dwarf endures when he has met his One," he said finally. "In the simplest terms, my body desires I join with you with a fierceness that cannot truly be put into words." He took her hand in his and held it, waiting until her eyes met his before he continued. " _Ibriz_ , I want very much to make love to you, but I also desire to prove to you that you are more than an object of lust. As I said before, I will wait until you are ready, and if that means you desire a proper courtship, then I will abide by your wish."

"I'll be honest with ye… I find meself wanting ye very much, Fíli. At the same time, I do nae know if I'm quite ready ta take that step. Whether it be the past or the fact we've not known each other a week yet, I cannot say. But I truly appreciate that ye are so willing ta give me time ta get used ta all this."

Melindë paused and drew a breath. "Ta be further honest… I ne'er thought I'd find someone like ye, willin' ta see past all the lies, past the fact me dad killed a man…"

"Your father was defending the honor of his little girl," Fíli told her firmly. "Maybe he should not have gone about it the way he did, but I also cannot say I blame him for doing it. Had I a daughter, I'd likely hunt her attacker down in a blind rage myself if the same happened to her. And he did not kill a man, he killed a beast undeserving of the title."

She smiled. "Thank you for that. For all his mistakes that last year after losing me mum and brother… I know he loved me."

Melindë looked to the window then and Fíli followed her gaze. It had not quite been dinner time when the housewarming party had ended, but now he could see that the stars were beginning to shine.

"I should be gettin' home," she said. "Though I find meself nae wanting ta go at the same time."

Fíli grinned. "That's because you know you've got me right here beside you. I've such a captivating personality."

Melindë laughed as she took her hand from his and playfully slapped his arm. "Oi, ye really are pourin' on the charm, are nae ye, _melui naug nín_?"

"Is that some sort of nickname you keep calling me? I shudder to think it's an insult," Fíli quipped as they stood together and headed for the door.

She grabbed his hand and he turned back to look at her. "'Tis no insult," she said, her tone and expression serious. "What I call ye is what ye 'ave been from the moment we met: my sweet dwarf."

Fíli felt the widest smile he'd ever smiled cross his face. Only his mother's nickname for him had pleased him as much.

 **-...-**

The first several minutes of their trek toward the palace were spent in silence. Árni walked ahead of Thorin and Rejna, with Bahûna trotting along next to the princess' bodyguard.

"I feel compelled to ask you, Princess," Thorin began as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Do you know anything of what happened to Melindë and her father?"

"Regrettably I do not," she replied. "Each of the settlements, as I explained before, for the most part run independently of one another. There is a general council held once a month, and such an incident would likely have been addressed then, but if it occurred more than a week before the council, Lord Tryg would have handled it himself and merely informed the council afterward. I'm required to attend council meetings as I am the king's heir, but I honestly do not recall the incident. It is perhaps one of the very few I've missed as my duties as general required of me."

"I have noticed that most of the Edain in this kingdom prefer living in the Valley rather than any of the mountain cities," Thorin observed. "But Tryg is a dwarf name. Do you have any difficulty with them accepting a dwarf as their lord?"

"First, know that it is accepted by any Edain choosing to live in our Valley that they are subject to dwarf law—always has this been the case," Rejna replied. "That being said, with so many as live and work there it was long ago decided that relations would likely run smoother if the lord of the Valley were also Edain. Lord Tryg is actually half-blood: his father Jeron was Edain and Lord before him, and his mother was a dwarf. Vena was a fine dam by all accounts, and as I heard it Jeron was not her One. But she was getting on in years and she wanted children, and Lord Jeron was in need of heirs.

"Vena's father was one of Dwarrowvale's finest saddle makers—his talents were known even outside the kingdom. One day Jeron went to him for a new saddle and Vena happened to be there. They struck up a conversation and, seeing how well they got on, her father proposed they marry."

Thorin frowned. "After but one meeting?"

Rejna laughed. "Certainly not. Lord Tryg said it was on the fourth, after each had had the other to dinner and the like, that the betrothal was made. He said that his parents' marriage began as a union of mutual respect and admiration, and though he never heard them say they loved each other, it was clear when his father died that his mother was heartbroken."

She sighed then. "If events were as Melindë recounted them—and I certainly do not doubt her—then Tryg would have had no recourse but to sentence her father to the fate he met. As you know, treason, the taking of a life, and conspiracy to do either are the only crimes punishable by death in dwarf law. Only the method varies."

"What if the crime against her had been reported to the authorities?" Thorin asked, knowing what would have been done in the north, but intrigued was he to see how criminal matters were handled here.

"It would have been investigated, naturally. Were there physical evidence of the abuse she suffered, chances are likely the case would have been decided in her favor and Ioreth would have lost his _faslmagân_ as a result, not to mention he would still be in prison, as the minimum sentence for rape is ten years.

"As for the unfortunate humiliation the poor child's suffered… I strongly believe that the majority of it comes from her own kin. You know as well as I that no dwarrow would openly ostracize a young girl like that, especially if what her father accused Ioreth of was even remotely true."

"But neither have they intervened, it would seem," Thorin countered.

Rejna scoffed. "Another unfortunate circumstance, that. The Edain here may be 'ours' so to speak, but they are still Men. And dwarves here do not interfere in the affairs of Men unless they are kin."

Dwarves in the north were the same when it came to involving themselves in the business of Men, and he knew none who were related to his kin—not to mention that ill treatment of his people as they had wandered had led to an attitude of indifference towards Men. Still, it bothered him that no dwarf had stood up for the girl, when it was clear few or none of her own kind would. Thorin breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Melindë's fortunes were soon to change. With Mahal choosing her as Fíli's One, his people would more openly speak in her defense once they became aware of it. Even before their eventual marriage, a dwarf's One was considered kin.

He noted that the walls of the courtyard were looming closer, and felt a pang of regret in his chest that his time with Rejna was drawing to a close. Before tonight he had disliked parting from her company—now he loathed the idea. Mahal's hammer, how was he going to handle being parted from her until they could be properly wed?

He found himself laughing at the thought that he, Thorin Oakenshield, would soon be a married dwarf—likely by the end of the year. Before his apparently premature death, marrying and siring heirs had been the furthest thing from his mind; his brother and sister were more likely to have children than he when he had an entire people's safety and prosperity to see to, so it was one burden lifted from his shoulders. Frerin had died far too young but Dís had come through for him in that regard, giving him Fíli and Kíli as heirs to his kingdom in exile.

He felt pressure on his left hand and remembered that Rejna's was held firmly in it. "What amuses you, Thorin?" she asked.

He looked down at her with a smile. "I am reflecting upon the fact that never have I envisioned myself getting married, and now I know that someday soon I will be."

She returned his smile. "I like the sound of 'soon'. You have waited long enough for me, I would say, and though I had thought myself not ready for marriage as yet, now that we have acknowledged our connection I find I am eager for it to begin."

"You'll have to become betrothed first," Árni said over his shoulder. "And before that can happen, your One must not only make with his own hands a courting bead for your hair, but he must petition the king for your hand."

Thorin frowned—here was something he had not anticipated. "Of what does he speak? Is it not enough that we have acknowledged Mahal's will?"

"Do not let the captain's words worry you—it is merely a formality," Rejna said. "As with any dwarrow courtship, you must offer a suitable bride price, and a betrothal will not be formally recognized until my father accepts it. As he already knows that you are my One, I do not think his demands will be unreasonable."

Thorin snorted. "If you were my daughter, I would demand the wealth of Erebor for your hand."

She paused and drew him to a stop before the gate. "When we have a daughter, you may do just that."

 _When we have a daughter_ … The words sent shock running through his system—getting married was one thing, becoming a parent another matter entirely.

And Thorin was not prepared for any of it. Boy, did he ever have a _lot_ to think about.

"A castar for your thoughts, sir. I sense you drifting again."

Rejna's voice cut through the fog that had seemed suddenly to surround him. Thorin sighed as he lifted his hands to her shoulders and smiled. "They are not worth so much as that, Princess. I am just recognizing that I am a touch overwhelmed. So much has changed—so much _will_ change."

She brought her hands up to cover his. "I know. But while strong we were apart, Thorin, united we will be unbreakable. I feel certain we can handle what challenges we may face."

The complete trust and faith that she already had in him was humbling. It both melted his heart and lit a fire in his blood. He desired very much to ravage her mouth as he had earlier but there were too many eyes on them. He settled instead for a chaste brush of his lips across hers, all the while battling the firestorm's demand that he do more.

"I think it best I leave you here," he said when he had lifted his head again.

"Whatever for? It is not that late, and though full we may be from the repast at the housewarming, we can still sit and converse with my father as he takes his dinner."

"You wish me to visit with the king?"

Rejna scoffed. "Why wouldn't I? You will be kin soon enough. It is best you begin to know one another."

Though he nodded acquiescence, Thorin found his thoughts once again disturbed as they continued into the courtyard at last. Were he simply about to meet with Ragin as one dwarf to another he would think nothing of it. Now that the dynamic of his relationship with the princess had changed, however, so would that he had with the king. He was not a dwarf who could be intimidated and he had long prided himself on that trait. That her father was already aware Mahal had blessed their union meant he would not dispute it and make things difficult for them.

But Ragin was the father of his One, and like it or not, meeting him now in the role of prospective son-in-law was…intimidating.

Inside the castle they were told by a servant that King Ragin had already been served his evening meal in the private dining room. Árni led them there and then took up a post outside the doors with Solveg and Jormun.

"Rejna, my dear, I did not think to see you for another hour or so," the king greeted his daughter as they entered the room. "And Master Thorin, a pleasure it is to see you again."

Thorin bowed his head. "Your Majesty, it is an honor."

"Come and join me," Ragin said, gesturing toward the table. "I'll ring for the servants and have plates prepared for you."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, _Adad_ ," Rejna replied as she led Thorin to the end where her father was seated. He pulled her chair out for her and she smiled up at him, before he moved to her right and took his own seat. Bahûna yipped once and laid on the floor beside him.

"We do not need to eat, as we've enjoyed a wonderful spread already at Lord Commander Dwalin's housewarming," Rejna said.

"If I may, my Lord, I would suggest you visit with my cousin again when your schedule permits," Thorin said. "When last you saw it there was little more than the foundation and the start of the outer walls to his home. Completed it is a marvel to look upon."

"Of that I have little doubt. Will you at least have some ale with me? I'm a dwarf who hates to drink alone. Or wine, if that suits you better," Ragin said.

"A glass of wine would be lovely. Thorin?" Rejna said, looking toward him.

He nodded. "A glass of wine sounds refreshing. Thank you, my Lord."

Ragin scoffed and waved off his words. "No need to thank me, young master," he said as he picked up a silver bell and rang it. A serving girl appeared and he ordered her to bring in a pitcher of red wine and two glasses. She dipped into a curtsey and returned through the door she'd come through.

The king continued with his meal while they waited. "So tell me, Master Thorin," he began at one point. "What shall you do now that Master Dwalin's hobbit hole is finished?"

"It is our intention to build our own stable on his property," Thorin replied. "As the weather has been most cooperative, it should not take more than a week to complete. After that it is my intention to seek employment with one of the smithies."

"Thorin, did I not tell you that the army would employ you as a weaponsmith?" Rejna put in.

For a moment he did not answer, as the servant had come in with a tray carrying their wine. Once she had set the glasses before them and poured, the pitcher was placed on the table and she once again curtsied before departing.

"That you did, my Lady," he replied as he reached for his glass of wine.

"The army will certainly pay you well for your talents, Master Thorin, but I daresay there are other duties to which you will need to attend," offered the king.

Thorin felt his brow draw into a frown of confusion at the words, until he turned his gaze to Ragin and noted a knowing gleam in the king's eyes. _He knows_ , he thought, and though his initial instinct was to turn his attention back to his wine, he rose above it. For Durin's sake, he was a king himself! He would _not_ act a coward.

Rejna, apparently, had not noticed her father's amusement. "Whatever do you mean, _Adad_?" she asked.

"Well, he is to be my _agn_ _â_ _t'dashat_ , is he not? It is time the boy begins learning how to be a king," her father replied.

Before he could contemplate the ramifications of doing so, Thorin burst out laughing.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _agnât'dashat_ \- son-in-law

Note: A castar is a gold coin used as money in Gondor. It's full worth or real-world equivalent is unknown, but I am certain even one is a fair amount.

* * *

 **A/N:** I invite any fans of Daniella Blue's work ( _The Scribe and the Serving Girl_ / _Beneath a Cold Spring_ ) to head on over to the _Glimpses_ collection to read a new piece sent to me by her sister featuring Bronwë, Gimli, and some other familiar characters.


	47. Chapter 47

**Once again, I love you my awesome reviewers: ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, readpink, readergirl4985, tigergirl1723, dojoson41, and Aashi. You all continue to make me a very happy writer with your enthusiasm and kind words.**

 **dojoson41 - Yes, Thorin is going to tell Rejna and Ragin who he is, eventually—it's definitely not the kind of thing he can or even should keep from them. I've a plan in mind for the reveal, which won't happen until after Balin and Nori arrive. And yes, Hagen is definitely trouble.**

 **Aashi - So happy you thought Fee was sweet. I was definitely trying to paint him as being an understanding fellow. And considering Thorin's never really given thought to having a wife or children, he's a prime candidate for a few freak-out moments. Also, thank you kindly for the review of Daniella Blue's piece that I added to _Glimpses_. I do hope you will give all the deleted scenes and one-shots in the collection a read sometime and tell me what you think of them. **

**There is some mild sexual content in this chapter. Just an fyi.**

* * *

 **47\. Only One Match**

"I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion."

~ Rachel Platten, _Fight Song_

* * *

"And then you laughed? At the bloody king? Are you mad?"

Thorin shook his head. "Twice now I have been called 'boy' by a dwarf who could not be more than 30 years older than I. Not to mention I think I am quite well versed in what it takes to be a king. Ragin did not take offense, so all is well."

He sighed and pushed to his feet, walking over to the round window of the sitting room. He and Dwalin and Kíli had broken from the framing of the stable for lunch; while he and Dwalin had taken to their pipes after in the sitting room of the latter's new house, Kíli was outside with Larkspur and the three wolves, taking turns throwing a stick for the pups to chase and bring back to them. Dwalin had taken the opportunity of their being alone to ask Thorin how his night had ended, and so he'd recounted his conversation with Rejna and the start of their meeting with King Ragin.

"Though my actual term as king of our people was short and left much to be desired, before the quest I was still the leader. I saw to it our people had homes, clothing, food, honest work… I negotiated trade agreements with other dwarf clans, with Men, and even elves as need required."

"Aye. I daresay Ragin will find you an apt student," Dwalin observed. He cleared his throat then, and said, "Are you going to tell them?"

Thorin did not need to ask for clarification—it was clear what his cousin referred to. A heavy sigh escaped him. "I do not know," he said. "There is a part of me that feels I should, for Rejna is to be my wife and Ragin my father-by-law. I would not wish for either of them to keep something so significant from me. At the same time, I still find myself hesitating for Fíli and Kíli's sake, even though I know they despise hiding who they really are."

He turned back to Dwalin as he said, "In truth, I have tired of it also. I thought hiding who we were would keep them safe, but it is proving difficult to pretend to be something I am not."

Dwalin puffed on his pipe as he slowly nodded his head. "I have never had to make such a choice, but I can see that it wears on you and the lads. Not them so much, though, as they have not as much to hide. But as you were literally born to be a king, Thorin—how can you really pretend to be anything else?"

A smile slowly formed and Thorin nodded. "I have no idea," he confessed. "But I think, for now, I must continue the charade. Until such time as revealing myself becomes necessary."

He moved back to the armchair he'd occupied before and sat again. "There is something else," he began, and waited until Dwalin's eyes were on him. "Mahal spoke to me again."

Dwalin's eyebrows rose. "Did he now? What did he say?"

"For a moment last night, I wondered if I had been made to give up Erebor so that I could become king here. The Maker said it was not only so I could be king, but because I am needed as king."

His companion frowned. "Needed? Did he give a reason why?"

Thorin shook his head. "Nay, he did not. And I have not heard his voice again, though I have asked that question many times. As such, I can only speculate as to the purpose of my being needed."

"Aye. Probably something we're not going to like," Dwalin said.

He had no doubt, though he wished it were not so, that his cousin was right. Thorin then went on to recount the rest of the conversation he'd had with the king, much of it regarding what would be expected of him—most of which he already knew.

"As Rejna said, our courtship will not be official until I have made the bead for her hair," Thorin added. "I think I shall use one of the sapphires we have left from the troll treasure—I've one in mind that I think particularly suits her."

Dwalin laughed suddenly, and he frowned. "What?"

"'Tis nothing. It just amuses me to watch you speaking of the same simple things the average dwarf endures when engaging in courtship rituals," his cousin replied.

Thorin snorted. "I've yet to get to the matter of the bride price. No telling what sort of remuneration Ragin will demand in recompense for his daughter's hand."

"It will no doubt be a price as pretty as the bride-to-be," Dwalin observed. "Who, by the way, was right about one thing…"

"And what is that?"

"Rather than being dismayed you'll not have an entire lifetime together, just be glad that Mahal brought you together, Thorin. The way things were going in your old life, there's honestly no telling whether the two of you would have ever met. Rejoice in what time you will have together, for you could have had none at all."

As much as it pained him to admit it, Dwalin was right about that as well.

 **-...-**

Fíli had imprinted the route to Melindë's cottage in his mind so that he could find it again. He knew she planned to take her boat out again tomorrow, and he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could. Grehkin had understood, saying he'd had a suspicion after seeing them "glued together" at Dwalin and Larkspur's the day before that Melindë might be his One.

"And I'm glad for it," his boss had said as he was shooing him out the shop door. "I've not been able to do much of anything for her, but I know she's a good girl who got dealt a rough hand. Hard working, smart, and not hard to look at, that one is. Could use some more weight on them bones, but most daughters of Men are like that."

Grehkin had clapped a hand on his shoulder and said again, "She's a good girl, Fíli, but for all her own strength she is still just a female. And sometimes even a strong female needs the strength of another to hold her up. I don't doubt you'll be the best thing that ever happened to that child."

Fíli had nodded his thanks and headed out of the mountain, marveling at how observant a dwarf Grehkin was.

He was about halfway down the path when he noticed Melindë charging toward him. There was a male behind her carrying a box; he seemed to be trying to keep up with her stride while at the same time keep the box from jostling in his arms.

Fíli quickened his pace. "Melindë, what's happened?" as soon as he was close enough to see that she was livid.

She passed him without a word. Fíli turned a worried glance toward the male who followed her. "What happened?" he asked again as he fell into step beside the fellow.

"Ye must be Fíli," the man said. "I'm Belador, son o' Beladir. I'm First Mate o' the _Morren_."

Belador sighed as Melindë took a turn on the path, which Fíli knew led to the Falling Rock. "There was some…vandalism at 'er house this mornin'."

A frown creased his brow as anger surged through him. "What kind of vandalism?"

Belador lowered the box just enough that he could look into it. Fíli was sickened to see bones inside.

"Oh Mahal," he whispered.

"Indeed, Master Fíli. I daresay our girl 'as 'ad jus' about enough. This were the last straw."

The two entered the Falling Rock mere seconds behind Melindë, just in time to witness her jerking the chair out from under a dark-haired man who'd been laughing over his ale with two others. The whole room went silent as one of his companions stood and pulled a knife from a sheath at his belt. In three strides Fíli was next to him with a tight grip on his wrist.

"Touch the woman, and you lose the hand," he said as the first man was scrambling to his feet. The one with the blade scowled at him but returned it to the sheath.

"The hell you think you're doing?!" the man hollered at Melindë.

Her expression was a mask if indifference, but Fíli could see the pain and rage in her eyes. She reached a hand out toward Belador blindly, and he immediately drew up on her right. Melindë looked away long enough to reach into the box, out of which she pulled perhaps the smallest skull Fíli had ever laid eyes upon. Pain lanced through his chest for his One, and he could only imagine how much it hurt her to be holding the tiny thing.

"Do ye know what this is?" she asked, turning with the skull in her hand so that every man and dwarf, male and female, had a chance to see it.

"Well?!" Melindë demanded of the first, moving it closer to his face. "Do ye know what this is?"

The man blanched and took a step back from her. "It's a skull," he replied.

"Aye, 'tis a skull. But what kind o' skull? Tell me, if'n ye can, what could possibly 'ave 'ad a skull so small as this?"

"A…a child."

"Not just a child, though, is it? 'Tis the skull o' a newborn babe. 'Tis the skull o' me little brother, who died before 'e were born, before 'e even 'ad a chance ta take 'is first breath outside our mother's womb. A baby boy whose name is known only to the Valar."

She turned toward Belador and reached into the box again, this time pulling out a skull much larger than the one she held in the palm of her left hand, about the size of her own head. "And do ye all know who this is? Hmm? This be me sainted mother, who ne'er did wrong ta another soul in all her life, who died in the effort o' tryin' ta bring me brother inta the world."

Melindë drew a breath and tilted her head back. Fíli could see that she was fighting tears and he wanted desperately to go to her, to comfort her and ease her pain as much as he was able. But he knew also that she had to do this. That it was high time she told these people off, and he would not get in the way of that.

"Do ye sorry bastards know why I'm holding the skulls of me long-dead kin in me hands?" Melindë went on. "'Tis because one o' ye—that would be Etten here—thought it would be funny ta dig 'em up just to get under me skin."

"That's bollocks—I did no such thing!" the one called Etten shouted. "Grave desecration is a crime!"

"So is rape ye feck head, but there were nae any witnesses ta what happened ta me, so does that mean it were no crime after all?!" Melindë cried sharply.

She turned once more to Belador and gently returned the skulls to the box he held. Her friend stepped back as she faced Etten again, poking her finger into his chest. "Thought ye'd get away with it, I'm sure. But ye didn't take into account me neighbors you sick _yrchion_ —ye were seen on me property this mornin' right before I went to feed me horse, right before I saw what ye'd done ta me mother and brother's grave. And it were me screamin' what brought Grilka over ta tell me she saw ye there."

Melindë turned once more to scan the silent crowd. "I've 'ad it with the lot o' ye. For ten bloody years I've put up with the lies. The whispers, the laughin', the pointin'. I've done nothin' when ye or yer bratty children threw rotten food onto me property, did nothin' when rotten eggs were thrown at me house, or when me horse's feed were stolen from the barn. Say what ye like about me because I don't bloody care anymore what ye think. I know what happened ta me, and I do nae need ye believin' me ta make it any more true than it is!

"But what I will not do—what I will _never_ tolerate—is the blatant disrespect o' the dead! Me mother and brother are innocent souls what were gone long before Ioreth came along and showed me 'e were a beast not deservin' o' the title o' man. They do nae deserve to be made pawns in some arsehole's stupid games for getting' a rise out o' me, because he thought it would be _fun_."

The last word she all but spat in Etten's face. "Me property is private. Any man, woman, or dwarf what sets foot on it without bein' invited beforehand will be shot on sight. Perhaps a few arrows ta the skull will get the message across ta ye bastards ta leave me the hell alone!"

Melindë turned on her heel and stormed out, Belador following close behind. Fíli took a moment to look around the Falling Rock's dining room, and on the faces of the few dwarves present he saw flickers of admiration. The men and women were harder to read, though most seemed shocked—whether at the grave desecration or Melindë's finally telling them off he couldn't be sure.

"You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves," he said. "What if it were your mother or your sister who said she had been forced into a male's bed? What if it were your own daughter who said she was told that it did not matter what she wanted, who was violated in the worst possible way for hours and beaten when she resisted? Would you have believed someone in your own family if she said it happened to her? Or would you shun her, laugh at her, call her a harlot because some bastard told a lie about her? I really want you to take a moment and imagine what you would do if that happened to someone you loved."

He shook his head and moved to the door, where he turned around with a steely glare to give them a final warning. "You lot best tell everyone you know: It ends today. No more lies about her sleeping around when not a damn one of you can prove she has been. No more whispering behind your hands. No more laughing and pointing at her. No more vandalism of her property. You _will_ treat Melindë with the respect she is due or you'll have me to answer to. I will not stand idly by and allow my One to further be treated as cruelly as you have done."

The dwarves in the room began to murmur amongst themselves but he ignored them, and as he turned away he heard, "I know something of dwarf culture. Why would your maker choose a whore to be a dwarf's One?"

It seemed but an instant that Fíli was back at the table where Etten stood smirking at him. Before the man could react, he threw a hard punch to his gut. When he doubled over, the blond dwarf took him by the throat and lifted him high enough to slam him down onto the table, which collapsed under the force. As Etten was writhing in pain amidst the splintered wood, he drew one of his many blades and jammed it into the plank just a hair's breadth from the man's eye.

"You had best thank whatever Vala you revere that I have no desire to spend even a single day behind bars for killing the likes of you," Fíli seethed. "Call Melindë a whore again and see if I don't change my mind."

Certain that he had at last got his point across, he pulled the knife from the wood and returned it to its hiding place. From his pocket he pulled a tharni and lobbed it toward the bar to cover the damaged table, then he turned and walked out.

Outside he ran to catch up with Melindë and Belador. In silence he reached for her hand, and she squeezed it tightly in return. When they reached to the house, Belador set the box with her mother and brother's remains carefully on the ground next to a large, unmarked stone before which the earth had clearly been disturbed. Fíli stood with Melindë while Belador jogged toward the small barn, returning moments later with a shovel. Wordlessly he began to dig and deepen the hole, which had been partially filled in at some point. When he finished he moved toward the box, prompting Melindë to speak at last.

"No, Bel. I'll do it."

Belador looked up to her and nodded, then moved aside. Melindë released Fíli's hand and went to the box, knelt beside it, and carefully began removing the bones and setting them back into the ground. She murmured in Sindarin as she worked.

Fíli moved to stand next to her friend. "Do you know what she's saying?" he asked softly.

"Aye. Apologies and prayers," Belador replied. "'Twas quite the dishonor wha' was done 'ere."

"Agreed," Fíli replied, feeling the anger surge through him again.

"Ye'll stay with 'er?" the Dúnadan asked.

He looked up at the taller fellow and nodded. "I will."

Belador nodded as well. "I would stay meself, but I've got ta set me mum and brother up fer us shippin' out tomorra. Tell 'er not ta worry 'bout the _Morren_ , I'll see ta stockin' the ship as well."

Fíli nodded again and looked down at Melindë as Belador walked away; she was now crying and sniffling as she pushed loose earth into the hole over the bones. When she had finished, he stepped up next to her and silently held out his hand. It was a moment before she noticed and reached up to take it, grabbing the box as she stood before she began moving toward the house.

Inside the house was small—he recalled her saying it only had two bedrooms, and it was so old there was no indoor plumbing save for a water pump in the kitchen. The _Morren_ could be seen docked on the riverbank some hundred yards from the front door.

Melindë walked into the kitchen and, much to his surprise, began breaking the wooden box apart, throwing the pieces into the fireplace. It was not hard to figure out that she'd have no desire to use the box again, not after what it had carried that day. When she had finished, she moved to the sink and pumped the handle at the back three times; water poured from the spout and she held her hands under it, rubbing them together until the remnants of the dirt had washed away.

Fíli walked up behind her and slowly wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened at first, then turned and threw her arms around his shoulders, laying her cheek to the top of his head as she cried.

He was unsure how long they stayed that way, but the next thing he knew she was kissing him. He responded immediately, though knowing she was acting more on raw emotion than desire, he ignored the demand of the firestorm to just go with it and carefully pushed her away.

"I want ye ta make love ta me, Fíli," she said, her voice husky.

Shock and desire both slammed through him. "Melindë, I don't—"

"Please," she said. "I feel so empty right now. So hollow…"

He ached with the pain he heard in her voice, and Mahal knew he wanted to sate the firestorm, but not like this. "Melindë, we've just barely met. I'll not lie and say I've never bedded a woman outside of marriage, but this is different. _You_ are different."

"Why? Because I've been raped?" she retorted, suddenly angry. "I thought the past didnae matter ta ye?"

With a disgusted snort she pushed him away from her and fled the kitchen. _Mahal, please—help me know what to do_ , Fíli begged silently.

No response was forthcoming save for an irresistible urge to go to her and let whatever would happen…happen. With a sigh, he bid his feet carry him in the direction she'd gone. He found Melindë in the second bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.

" _Ibriz_ , your past doesn't matter to me," he told her from where he stood in the doorway. "You are different because you mean so much more to me than the brothel girls I've lain with in my own past. Besides our not knowing each other well, we're not married yet. I don't want to lay with you before we are only to have you regret it."

"I didnae want ta lay with Ioreth because he frightened me," she said without looking up. "Ye do nae frighten me, Fíli. I feel safe when I'm with ye."

Melindë then turned her head and lifted her eyes to his. "When ye kiss me, ye make me feel more alive than I 'ave in years. I didnae want Ioreth, but I want you. I just want ta feel that all the time. Ta stop feeling empty, ta stop feeling so utterly alone."

Whether born of the desire raging through him to claim her once and for all or the need to calm her fears, Fíli strode across the room and stopped before her. "You are my One, Melindë. You will never be alone again."

Saying a quick, silent prayer that he was doing the right thing, he bent his head and claimed her lips as he nudged her legs apart with his knee and stepped between them. She held his waist as he plundered her mouth with his tongue and reached for the hem of her shirt with his hands. Their movements soon became frenzied as each helped the other to discard clothing, all while trying to keep their lips touching.

Fíli had wanted their first time together to be romantic. He'd wanted to take it slow, to show her how she should have been treated her first time, but it seemed she did not want slow and easy right now. This was not going to be about romance, he realized, but sating a desperate need—on both their parts. It took all of the will he could muster to pause after laying her back on the bed, their naked bodies touching, to give her one last chance to turn him away.

"It is killing me to say this now, but are you sure?" he asked, his voice thick with the restraint he was exercising to keep from thrusting his throbbing cock inside of her.

Melindë lifted her hands to either side of his face. "I do nae want ta remember him. Only you, _melui naug nín_. Make me forget him. Make me feel alive again."

Holding her gaze, he gave her what she wanted, slipping inside of her slowly until she'd taken every inch he had. Her legs tightened around him and she arched her back as she moaned. Fíli claimed one of her peaked nipples in his mouth as he began to move, then the other, fulfilling his desire to touch and taste them as he had in his dreams. She dug her nails into his shoulders and whispered Sindarin in his ear.

He lost track of the passing of time. Melindë was pushing at the headboard when at last she cried out his name with her release, and it was not long before he shouted through his own. Though they trembled in each other's arms for many minutes after, it was not until the sky began to darken that they left the bed, filling the hours with exploring each other again and again, each learning new ways to please the other.

Afterward, Fíli pumped water for a bath and warmed it over a fire while she dozed, and Melindë giggled sleepily when he lifted her to carry her to the bathroom, setting her on her feet in the tub before stepping in himself and drawing her down so that he could help her bathe.

"Are you very sore?" he asked as he soaped her back.

"No, only a little," she replied. She then turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, Fíli. I've ne'er spent so delightful an afternoon with a man."

"And you still haven't," he replied with a cheeky grin. "I'm a dwarf."

She laughed, bringing him much relief. Her gaze was no longer haunted as it had been when they'd first returned to the house. "Then never shall I know what it is ta be with a man. I do nae think one could make me feel like ye did."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "And a good thing that is, as I'd kill any man that touched you."

Once they were both clean and refreshed, Melindë donned a robe and Fíli his trousers and they went into the kitchen in search of something to eat. It was as she was warming the food over a fire that he remembered to give her Belador's message.

"'E's a good first mate, Belador is," Melindë said. "Knows more about bein' a fisher than I, and I were born a fisher's daughter. Bel could easily be captain o' 'is own ship, but 'e sticks with me."

"That's probably because he loves you," Fíli grumbled, feeling a pang of jealousy.

"Oi, don't ye go gettin' yer under-trousers in a knot, 'tis never been like that with Bel," she chastised him as she served him a bowl of hastily thrown together stew. She'd not had much in her larder—"I told ye I spend most o' me time on the boat"—and they'd used what little there was.

"Belador and I grew up together," Melindë said as she was spooning her own bowl. "I'm the closest thing he has to a sister. His mum only had two boys, him and his younger brother."

They ate in silence for a few moments once she'd sat across from him. About halfway through her bowl, Melindë paused and looked at him. "I wish I didnae have ta go out tomorrow."

"I wish you could stay as well. Not sure I like the idea of my woman being all alone on a boat with five men for even a day, let alone three weeks," Fíli quipped.

"It'll be four men this trip as Garadel will be spending the next few weeks with his wife and their new little one," Melindë returned. "Of the four, one's practically me brother, one is married, one betrothed, and the last is nae attracted ta females."

Fíli's eyes widened. He'd heard of males who were only sexually attracted to other males, but to his knowledge had never known such a male personally. "Well then, so long as you are secure from being lusted after, I shall not be jealous," he said. "Though I will miss you, _Ibriz_."

She smiled. "And I will miss you."

Looking around him, he noted many spots in the combined kitchen and dining room that were in need of repair. Perhaps he could take care of that for her while she was gone. Or perhaps…

"Melindë, I do hope I'm not pushing for too much too soon given what we have shared today, but I was just thinking… I know this house holds great sentimental value for you, that you grew up here and your mother and brother have their resting place out back…"

Her brow furrowed. "What are ye saying, Fíli?"

Fíli reached across the table and took one her hands in his. "I'm saying I don't want to spend another night alone in my bed if I don't have to. When you're not out on the boat, I want you with me in the mountain."

She blinked, her mouth dropping open in an O of surprise. "Ye… Ye want me ta live with ye?"

"I want you marry me first, so's everything's proper and all, but yes, I want you to live with me," he replied. "When a dwarf meets their One, we know that's it. I'm never going to want anyone else."

Seeing that she was quite stunned he quickly added, "Of course there's the whole matter of our not knowing each other well, and I certainly will stand by my word of giving you a proper courtship if that's what you want. But I already know I want us to be husband and wife. I've known that from the moment of our first kiss."

"That's… Oh Elbereth, I was nae expecting this," Melindë said at last. "I do nae know, I have nae had time ta really think o' bein' courted, let alone married. I never imagined livin' anywhere but here after what happened before."

A sudden flash of memory, words Mahal had said to him the night before, came to him then: _She needs your protection_. He had no idea what the Maker meant, and he did not wish to find out.

With a sigh Fíli said, "I just feel that you'll be safer living in the mountain with me."

Melindë bit her lip, then said, "I cannae give ye an answer right this moment, but ye've me word I'll think on it while we're out. Will that be all right?"

He'd take what he could get—for now—and smiled. "That'll be just fine."

* * *

 **Sindarin:**

 _yrchion_ \- son of an orc

Note: A tharni is a form of money used in Gondor. It is a silver coin and it takes four tharni to equal one castar.


	48. Chapter 48

**Deepest thanks, as always, to my Rockstar Readers - for chapter 47, they are readpink, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Aashi, and Emina. Thanks also to the silent readers, as well as K-Merritt09 and Fandomholic for clicking the follow and favorite buttons!**

 **Aashi - I'm so happy you thought Fee and Mel's interlude was romantic, because that's what I was going for!**

 **Emina - I like that Mel got to speak her mind as well, because it was about time she did! And of course Fíli was protective - no way was he going to let his One be mistreated for a single moment more. Hopefully the people in the Valley got the message loud and clear that it would be most unwise to mess with a dwarf's lady!**

* * *

 **48\. The Council**

* * *

Thorin had made his own beads before. He had made them for his sister, for his brother, for his nephews.

Rejna's courting bead was the finest he had ever fashioned. It would only be surpassed when it came time to make betrothal and marriage beads.

It was only when he considered the promise bead that he became stumped. Well, not so much the bead itself but what it represented. Custom dictated that he build a new home for her, or dedicate a room in her honor if he already owned a home. But Rejna was a princess, not a common dam. The bead represented fulfillment of the custom, but she already lived in a palace—so how in the world was he to meet his obligation either way?

He groaned, understanding now the logistical nightmares of getting married his friends had lamented in years past.

Hearing a knock at the apartment door, Thorin slipped the bead into the inner pocket of his vest, shaking his head at the sentiment that he desired to keep it close to his heart until he could give it to his One. He was to meet with King Ragin later today to discuss the bride price.

He entered the sitting room as Kíli was reaching for the door handle. They were both of them surprised to see Gunnar on the other side, helmet in hand.

"Gunnar, 'tis been a while since we've seen you. What can we do for you?" Kíli asked.

Gunnar looked to Thorin. "I am come to escort Master Thorin to the palace."

"My meeting with the king is not until this afternoon, after luncheon," Thorin said.

"Your presence is requested by Her Highness, my Lord."

A sense of alarm shot through him and he stepped forward. "Has something happened to Rejna?"

The soldier cleared his throat. "Physically she is quite well, I assure you," he said quickly. "But uh… she's not very happy at the moment."

Thorin looked to his nephew. "Kíli, tell Dwalin I will join you when I am able."

"Of course. Go, Uncle, and see to your One. The stable can do without you for a day," Kíli assured him.

It passed through Thorin's mind very quickly that Gunnar might not yet have been made aware of the change in his relationship with Rejna, but he could not concern himself with that now. All he could think of was getting to her and seeing that she was all right. After ordering Bahûna to remain with Kíli, he stepped out of the apartment and he and Gunnar were off.

He walked beside the soldier at a fast clip through the mountain, and for the first time entered "the back way"—through a door inside the mountain itself. Thorin knew it was not the only door that led from the palace into the mountain, as Rejna had already confided that there were a number of them, all but one being secret and known only to the royal family and their personal bodyguards.

They hurried now through the one door known to the public and thundered up a set of stairs. Gunnar led him down a few back passageways and up another flight of stairs before ending up at the door to Rejna's private suite. The soldier nodded to his comrade standing outside, who Thorin noted was not Árni.

Rejna's bodyguard opened the door from inside after Gunnar knocked and Thorin was ushered in. "Thank goodness you are here," he said as he closed the door behind him. "Rejna's in quite the fit of pique."

"What the devil has upset her so?" Thorin demanded.

The princess herself entered the sitting room just then followed by a maid who promptly disappeared through another door, and once again his breath was stolen to see her in a dress. This one was a deep blue lined in silver, with silver buttons up the bodice, silver threading, and blue gemstones—sapphires, no doubt—set inside the silver trim around her hem, neckline, and cuffs. There were silver beads and blue and white gemstones woven into her elaborate hairstyle.

" _Amrâlumê_! You came!" Rejna cried softly when she saw him, hiking up her skirts so she could run across the room. He met her halfway, stunned that she had just called him "my love".

Their arms went around each other at the same time. "Your call I will always answer, Princess," he whispered in her ear.

He held her tight for a long moment, then stood back with his hands at her shoulders. "Your soldiers tell me you are upset. What has caused this?"

Rejna's expression shifted in an instant, going from joy at seeing him to outraged. "It's that git Lord Hagen!" she seethed. "He's called an 'emergency meeting' of the council to address the matter of my 'lack of betrothal'."

Thorin now felt a surge of anger himself. "I believe it is time we make this Hagen aware that you and I are not merely friends."

"That is precisely why I called for you. We must present a united front, for I know he will seek to divide us."

"It is Mahal's will that we are to be together!" Thorin thundered.

"Yes it is, my Lord," Árni said behind him, "but that will not stop Hagen."

He turned to the captain. "What business is it of his whether Rejna is betrothed or not?"

"Thorin, I am five and one hundred plus six months," Rejna answered. "It is an old, stupid law he cites, which states that a female heir to the throne must be married or at the least betrothed to a dwarrow of noble blood before she reaches a century. I have been granted more than a five-year reprieve, and now Lord Hagen seeks to end it!"

"You are certain this is the issue he desires to address?"

"Yes. He has already sent a letter by owl to my father that he wishes to discuss it before the entire council. I've no doubt he already has a betrothal contract drawn up just waiting to be signed," she spat angrily.

"And do you believe he will seek to thwart the Maker's will?" Thorin pressed.

"My father once did not think so, but even he seemed quite disturbed when he spoke to me of the letter," Rejna told him. "We have since received further missives from Lord Tryg and our cousin, Lord Eirik, that they and their heirs have been summoned to council. They'll be here within the hour!"

Though he was as angry as she, it pained him to see her so out of sorts, and so Thorin dipped his head to press his lips over hers. It was his duty to see to her every comfort, and that included making her feel better when she was upset. A chaste kiss would have to do, however, and so he made sure the contact was brief.

"Have you any idea what kind of interference we can expect?" he asked when they parted.

Rejna drew a breath and released it in a huff; he was pleased to see that she already did not seem as agitated as before. "Well, your bloodline will come into question," she said.

"My bloodline?" Thorin frowned. "What has my bloodline to do with anything if our union is already blessed by Mahal?"

She scoffed. "Maybe you missed the part where I said I must wed a dwarf of noble blood. I know you are kin to Dwalin, and thus kin to King Dáin of Erebor, but how closely you are related will be under much scrutiny."

He froze. Now was not the time for who he really was to come out—he'd not even decided how and when to tell Rejna and her father! _Mahal, I need your guidance_ , he pleaded silently.

"If you are deemed not close enough of a relation," Rejna was saying, "it is entirely plausible to expect Hagen to put forth a motion to dismiss my inheritance."

Thorin's frown became a scowl. "He cannot do that. You are the Crown Princess," he said.

"I am afraid he can, my Lord," Árni spoke up again. "Hagen is a blood purist. If he thinks you are not noble enough to sit on the throne, he can and most likely will petition the king to renounce Rejna as his heir and name another in her stead. The next in line is Hakon."

"Not the boy from your regiment?" Thorin asked.

Árni nodded as Rejna replied, "One and the same. He is a cousin, related to my father and I through his mother, whose father was brother to my grandfather. Hakon is the youngest of three children, but the only male, and thus his father's heir."

"And the king's, should Hagen's petition—if me makes one—succeed," Thorin grumbled.

Árni cleared his throat, leading both Thorin and Rejna to look at him. The expression the bodyguard wore was one that bespoke of ill news. "What is it?" he asked.

"Although Lord Hagen motioning for dismissal of inheritance is a possibility," he began, "there is something else he may do."

"Such as?" Thorin queried at the same time Rejna said, "He would not dare!"

"Your Highness, consider of whom we speak," said Árni. "Hagen has been making noise about a changing of the guard being necessary for decades. That the royal line among the Blacklock clan has grown too thin—yourself, Hakon, and his sisters are the future of your House. I think you know that he would rather see Halvar on the throne than Hakon."

"You are not suggesting that he would do harm to the boy?" asked Thorin.

"Not to Hakon, no—and certainly not anything that can be traced back to him. He's too clever for that," replied Árni with a shake of his head. "To Hagen, Hakon is just a child, one who can be easily manipulated. He's more like to try and mold him than murder him. You, on the other hand… I would not put it past him to find ways of forcing you to reconsider your relationship with the princess."

Thorin snorted in disgust. "Why do I get the feeling that once we announce or intentions, I will become quite the object of his obsession?"

"We will need to assign him a bodyguard, Captain," Rejna said as her grip on his arm tightened. "I'll not have my One come to harm."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

"No," Thorin countered. "I have no need of a bodyguard. Besides, no threat has yet been made."

Rejna scowled. "'Yet' being the operative word, Thorin. Árni is right—Mahal's will or no, Hagen is like to seek ways of thwarting my claim to the throne if I do not accept a betrothal to Halvar. He would not seek to harm Hakon or myself because we are of the royal house, but you are a prime target for whatever schemes he may dream up."

"If you are maimed or dead, my Lord, he can try to force a wedding between Rejna and Halvar that she may produce an heir of his bloodline, Mahal's choice of you notwithstanding," Árni said quietly.

He did not like the sound of that in the least. "And what of this Halvar?" he asked, diverting for a moment the subject of his needing protection. "Is he as much a bastard as his father?"

"No, but he's as frightened of him as we all should be," Rejna replied. "Halvar's an excellent soldier, General of the Eastfell regiments. Handsome, I suppose, though he's never turned my head. To be perfectly honest with you, I am not even sure he likes females, if you know what I mean."

"You know, I've often wondered the same," Árni mused. "His eyes seem to fall on males more often than females."

Thorin shook his head. He did not care if Halvar desired males over females so long as he did not desire Rejna, though if the former he knew for sure he had nothing to be concerned with in that area. And while the possibility that Hagen would take action against him might be a legitimate concern, he would not allow paranoia to dictate how he lived his life. Dwalin had been focused on building his house and making Larkspur happy since their arrival in Dwarrowvale, thus giving him the ability to come and go and do as he pleased. He was just beginning to realize he rather enjoyed the freedom that came along with having no responsibilities when he'd felt compelled to give in to the cry of his blood and claim his One.

Had that really been just two days ago?

"Thorin."

Rejna's voice snapped him from his brief reverie. He looked down at her and noted an expression of genuine concern on her countenance. "Yes, Princess?"

"I want you safe."

He lifted a hand to her cheek and caressed it with his thumb. "I am perfectly capable of defending myself, Rejna. Besides, though Hagen is clearly an over-ambitions arse, we've nothing to base the need for protection on other than wild speculation. I will not let my life be ruled by fear, and nor should you."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I already have protection, as you are well aware."

"Aye, and though I know him not I am forced to trust the captain with your life."

"The captain can hear you," Árni quipped.

Thorin chuckled and turned to him. "I mean no offense, Árni. I am aware you have been her shadow for many years."

Árni nodded. "Aye. And for many to come, Mahal willing."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Árni opened it to Gunnar, who said, "A page was just here. His Majesty requests your presence that he may convene the council."

They departed at once, with Árni walking ahead and Gunnar behind. Thorin walked with Rejna between the two soldiers, her hand clutched tightly around his. This was not at all how he had expected his day to go. It had been a great leap for him to accept Mahal's will and admit that he had indeed met his One, after all these years. It was harder still for him to forgive that they would not have as many years together as he would have preferred, but Dwalin and Rejna both had made such a strong point about how better it was to accept that they had met at all.

He'd figured King Ragin would play a little hardball about the bride price, but he had been so pleased to see his daughter was happy with the Maker's choice for her that it would certainly have been mostly bluster. Though he had only spent an hour or so in the king's company thus far, Ragin seemed to like him well enough. And in truth, Thorin liked the king as well. He was a smart, savvy fellow, with a keen eye and a sharp wit. He had no doubt that in the years of his rule, he had been a fair sovereign to the people of Dwarrowvale—he'd not once heard him spoken ill of.

Nowhere in making plans for beads and bride price negotiations and wondering how he would dedicate a room in Rejna's honor had he ever considered that politics would muck it all up. Thorin hated politics. The schmoozing of other nobles to keep them happy, the feigning of politeness in the presence of those he disliked, having to concede more than he wanted to get what he needed…

 _Why could not my One be a sweet little thing like Larkspur?_ he wondered.

In the next moment he felt Rejna's eyes on him, and when he looked to her he smiled, for he could not for the life of him imagine his One being anybody else.

They reached the council chamber and Thorin made note of the number of guards outside. There were two of the King's Guard in addition to another six soldiers, likely the personal security of the other nobles. He wondered where Solveg and Jormun were even as Árni was knocking.

Jormun and Solveg opened the doors from inside the council chamber. Árni stepped to the side to allow them through as Rejna was releasing his hand.

"Only for a moment, _amrâlumê_ ," she whispered, before smoothing her hands down her front, squaring her shoulders, and holding her head high as she stepped forward. As she crossed the threshold, Thorin heard several chairs scrape. Rejna paused and turned her head his direction, then held her hand out.

In his subconscious, he acknowledged that he held his head higher and walked with his back straighter as he stepped into the council chamber. He would _not_ allow Hagen to intimidate him.

"This is an outrage!" Hagen bellowed as soon as he took the princess hand. "What is that petty dwarf doing here, and what right has he to lay hands on Rejna?!"

Fury at the insult to both him and Rejna burned through Thorin's blood and he scowled in the other dwarrow's direction.

"My Lord Hagen," the princess snapped. "It would be most wise of you to remember your place, sir. You are in the presence of your Crown Princess and your King, and you speak ill of a guest in our home. I advise you to reconsider your words and your tone or you will be removed from the palace."

Thorin made quick work of assessing the dwarves in the room. Ragin stood at the head of the table. To his left was Hagen, whose color was almost puce at the rebuke he'd just been given, and on his left was a younger dwarrow that bore a striking resemblance to him. To the left of the one he assumed was Halvar were two figures who could only be Tryg and one of his daughters, as they both bore strong Dwarvish features—the female even had long sideburns and a tuft of hair at her chin decorated with a few gemstones—but were taller than everyone else in the room. He judged Tryg to be about the same height as Melindë (who stood about five and a half feet), with his daughter just a few inches shorter.

On the right side of the table, at the second seat down, was a stocky dwarf whose brown hair and beard were heavily streaked with gray—Eirik, he recalled. To his right stood Hakon, decked out in his military armor as was Halvar.

His scan of the room took but a breath to complete. Rejna's grip on his hand tightened as Hagen opened his mouth again.

"Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness, but this council was convened to discuss the matter of your lack of betrothal," he said. "Your…guest…has no business being present."

"On the contrary, Lord Hagen, I believe he does," spoke up King Ragin. "For he and I were to negotiate a bride price this very afternoon."

He gestured for Thorin and Rejna to take a seat; Hakon and Eirik both moved down one chair. Hagen blustered, looking around the table in shock and anger before turning his gaze to the king once more. "Your Majesty this cannot be! I already have a contract for her betrothal to Halvar!"

To his credit, Halvar looked as though he wished to be anywhere but here, Thorin noted as he first pulled out Rejna's chair and then his own, which was across from the younger dwarrow. No one moved to sit until Rejna and then the king had done so.

"You drew up a contract of betrothal without my having agreed to marry General Halvar? Without even having discussed such a contract in my presence?" Rejna queried, her tone icy and sharp.

"You would have been present had this one," Hagen spat, jerking his thumb toward Thorin, "not showed up and given you an excuse to be elsewhere."

This dwarf was not very bright, Thorin mused, feeling his expression darken at the continued rudeness toward Rejna, as well as the insults toward his own character. He would allow the princess the lead as he knew she would want, but already his patience was growing thin and he knew not how much longer he would be able to hold his tongue.

Rejna glanced from Hagen to her father and back again. "So you negotiated this contract with the king, who knowing me better than anyone else present agreed to its contents on my behalf? Funny, Lord Hagen, but I do not recall my father speaking of this contract to me at any time in the last few weeks."

"It was not all decided at that time, and some points can certainly be negotiated now that you are here."

The princess shook her head. "That will not be necessary, for the contract will not be needed. With all due respect to my friend and comrade, General Halvar, I officially decline any offer of marriage to your House."

She then looked to Thorin and held up her hand, which he took in his as Rejna looked to the other dwarves in the room. "My Lords, Lady Kari, may I introduce to you Master Thorin, son of Targo…and chosen by Mahal as my One."

Thorin placed his right hand over his heart and bowed his head, and when he raised it again he drew her hand up to touch his lips to the back of it, then they laid their joined hands atop the table for all to see.

"No! No, I do not accept this!" Hagen bellowed, banging a fist on the table. "He is nobody! He is—"

"Mahal's choice for my daughter, and a kinsman of King Dáin of Erebor," said Ragin, whose expression was bearing close to a scowl.

"Might I query as to how close a relation?" spoke up Lord Tryg politely.

Thorin surmised he wished to diffuse the tension. "As is King Dáin, I am descended of Nain the First, my Lord," he said, telling as much of the truth as he felt he could. "The king is my cousin."

"By what, three or four degrees, if not more?!" demanded Hagen. "Your Majesty, this cannot be allowed. If he were Lord of one of the northern kingdoms, or even one of those in the Orocarni, then an exception might well be made."

"Lord Hagen, Master Thorin is one of Durin's Folk," said Lord Eirik. "He is a cousin to their king as my wife is cousin to ours. What difference does the degree truly make? His blood is still as noble as yours or Elsa's."

"Noble blood or no, my Lords, the Maker has decreed I am Her Highness' One, and she is mine," Thorin said. "Would you have us defy his will?"

"Certainly not, Master Thorin," spoke up Kari. "Though only dwarrow in part, I am well versed in the customs of both my peoples. Strong is the faith in the Maker of the Dwarves, and none should reject his gift once it is given."

He almost had, fool that he was. Thorin offered Lady Kari a smile and nodded his head.

"Foolish female sentiment," said Hagen with a sneer. "Your Majesty, if Rejna will not betroth herself to my son then she forces my hand. I hereby motion for dismissal of inheritance."

Rejna and Árni had warned him this would happen, but Thorin still could not quite believe it. Hagen was actually going to try and force the princess to marry Halvar or force an abdication. It was insanity.

"You cannot be serious," said Hakon, speaking for the first time. "My Lord, Princess Rejna is the king's heir!"

"Who has chosen to refuse marriage to a noble house for a common dwarf," Hagen countered. "The law clearly states a female heir _must_ betroth to or be wed to a dwarf of noble blood on or before her one hundredth birthday, and Her Highness has already been granted an excess of more than five years. It is past time for her to marry and produce an heir. If she will not wed Halvar, the king must dismiss her inheritance and name another heir, or she must abdicate and do the same."

"I will do no such thing!" Rejna declared as she stood in anger. " _Id zabad'egam irhiriya du e!_ "

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Amrâlumê_ \- my love (as said by a female to a male)

 _Id zabad'egam irhiriya du e!_ \- The throne belongs to me!


	49. Chapter 49

**Thanks as always to my Rockstar Reviewers - Robinbird79, readpink, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, yshxf, gginsc, and Guest. Thanks also to my silent readers and to Neo Queen Saranity for clicking the follow button!**

 **gginsc - The marriage law was written around the time of the Brotherhood's interference in the intermarriage of dwarves and men. I don't believe it's been much enforced in recent generations - Hagen's just using it as an excuse to try and get what he wants. And you're not the only one who wants to kill him.**

 **Guest - So glad you're excited!**

* * *

 **49\. Support System**

* * *

Hagen stood with a self-satisfied smirk, his movement drawing Thorin to his feet.

"We shall see about that, Your Highness," said the dwarf across from Rejna. "Come Halvar."

Halvar stood. The dwarrow had not said a word the entirety of the meeting, and though he did appear to want to speak, a glare from his father kept him silent. He lifted his hand over his heart and bowed his head in the direction of the king before he followed his sire out of the room.

" _That stupid, arrogant, son of a troll!_ " Rejna fumed in Khuzdul as she paced away from the table.

Thorin had followed the two departing dwarves with his eyes; he now turned them to the princess. "Halvar is an excellent soldier, you said? However did he achieve the rank of general if he is so meek in his father's presence?"

"Why do you think he spends more time with the army than he does at home, Master Thorin?" Ragin countered. "Halvar would rather spend weeks at a time in one of the northern outposts than even a day in his father's house. How Greti ever tolerated that dwarrow long enough to beget him a son I will never understand."

Rejna spun around and marched to the table, laying her hands atop it. " _Adad_ , we cannot allow that usurper to do this! I will _not_ be forced into a loveless marriage just to satisfy some ancient law that should never have been made in the first place!"

"And what of marriage to Master Thorin, Princess?" asked Kari. "Do you love him?"

Thorin turned to Rejna at the same moment she looked to him. He held her gaze, wondering if her use of the common Khuzdul endearment earlier had been a conscious choice.

"I do not know if I truly love him now, Lady Kari," the princess replied softly. "But I do know that one day I will, for never have I known a dwarf to not love the One our Maker chose for them."

"Is that your feeling as well, Master Thorin?" Kari asked.

"Indeed it is, my Lady," Thorin replied, his words eliciting a smile on the princess' face. "I do not believe Mahal would bring Rejna and I together if love was not sure to grow between us."

"How can we stop Hagen?" Hakon asked. "I am the only male of royal blood besides the king. I have not even reached the Age of Majority—in case of abdication, how could I then be named heir to the throne?"

"It is likely Hagen would seek to name a regent in your stead," said Tryg.

"In which case, he would no doubt insist upon Halvar or himself," added Eirik. "Thereby placing him in a position to control the throne, if not claim it."

Ragin drew a breath, then gestured to Thorin and Rejna. "Sit, please. Let us discuss this rationally and see if we cannot find a solution."

Thorin returned to his seat after Rejna had taken her own. "If the law Hagen is basing his motion on is so old, can it not be waived?" he suggested.

Eirik laughed, though the sound was without humor. "Surely you know that just because a law is old, does not mean it is not to be followed." He then tilted his head, as though in thought. "It also does not mean there is not some way to circumvent it."

"Legally," Ragin cautioned. "I will not give Hagen grounds to force our hand in his favor."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Eirik said with a nod. "By your leave, I shall research the marriage laws in the hope of discovering a… What is it the Edain call it?"

"A loophole, I think you mean," Tryg supplied for him.

"Yes, a loophole. Thank you."

"Actually, thank you both," Rejna said then. "Your support of me is greatly appreciated."

Tryg nodded, then said, "I support you, my Lady, because the throne is your birthright. And because Hagen is an arse who could do with being knocked off his purist pedestal."

"I am in agreement with Lord Tryg," Eirik put in. "There is also the simple fact that we are family. Though certainly it would be a wonder to see my son become king—"

"I will content myself with Westrock, when such time arrives as the lordship becomes mine," Hakon said quickly.

A light chuckle went around the table, then Rejna said, "Perhaps I ought review the ancient laws myself, that my first act as Queen will be to abolish the idiotic ones like that which Hagen is using to further his ambitions."

"And perhaps the one about no blood of Man in the royal line," added Kari. "Who knows, Princess, one day a child of yours might fall in love with a child of mine, or any other child of Edain blood. Perhaps Mahal will choose an Edain to be the mate of one of your children—perhaps your heir, even. Should your son have to abdicate his claim to the throne because his mate has the blood of Men?"

Rejna grinned. "If we are going to go that far, perhaps also we should rewrite the law so that a firstborn daughter may inherit, instead of being passed over for a younger brother."

She turned to her young cousin then, and added, "With all due respect, Hakon."

Hakon shrugged. "I take no offense, Princess. You know I love my sisters dearly, and I am in agreement that it is unfair Eirika should not inherit Father's title and seat on the council simply because she is female, even if she and Inge will be well provided for."

"You and I should be thankful, I think, that we had no brothers, my Lady," said Kari. "Though according to dwarf law, we could both of us been passed over for cousins."

Ragin cleared his throat. "What changes you make for the future of our people are yours to contemplate until such time as you can make them, _Nâtha_. I would simply abolish the marriage law now as it is within my authority as king, but Hagen would only see it as a declaration of war. I will not have any decision of mine put you at risk."

"Speaking of risk," Rejna began, but Thorin—feeling certain what she was about to say—spoke over her.

"Your Majesty, am I mistaken in assuming that Lord Hagen must draft and file an actual document of his motion?" he asked.

"No, that is precisely his next step," answered the king. "Of course, knowing him, he anticipated the present outcome and like the betrothal contract it is already written."

"And is that proposal not then put before the council to be voted upon?"

"Indeed it would be, Master Thorin. What are you getting at?" said Tryg.

Thorin looked to him. "If he is as clever as I have been warned, Hagen has to know that you would all vote in favor of the princess retaining her claim no matter her choice of husband."

Tryg's expression hardened. "My mother taught me to respect the Maker. I would not defy his will, and thus will not ask any other to do so. It is blasphemy to expect Her Highness to wed another simply to retain her crown when we all know Hagen will act through his son and allow her no authority."

"It would not matter if you were born of the poorest of our people or if you were Durin's heir—you are Mahal's choice for our princess," added Eirik. "That alone tells me he approves of you becoming our king."

Ragin snorted. "If only you _were_ Thorin Oakenshield—not that I mind at all having a blacksmith for a son-by-marriage. But him I doubt even Hagen would speak against."

He sighed even as Thorin was choking on his own breath. Was this meant to be a sign? Should he come forward now, when all those who were loyal to the throne were present?

"But of course, if you _were_ that Thorin," the king went on, "no doubt you would be taking my daughter to Erebor and I would never see her again. And then Dwarrowvale would be left to Hakon, unless she bore two sons."

Clearing his throat, Thorin said, "Somehow I doubt that Lord Hagen would bow before me if I were. He does not strike me as one who would accept the authority of Durin's heir—he does not even accept that I am cousin to the king of Durin's Folk.

"The point I was intending to make is that Hagen is surely aware that those here will support Princess Rejna's right to the throne and vote against the motion, as such a thing would require a unanimous vote in order to pass," he went on. "Therefore, what might he do to gain support for his case against her?"

"I shudder to think," said Kari.

"Do you think he would try to rally the people to his cause?" Hakon asked. "Much of Eastfell is populated by his Stiffbeard kin, and no doubt there are those among them that think as he does. Might Hagen attempt to sway the citizens of Eastfell, who might then demand dismissal or abdication?"

The boy's father nodded. "Aye, that is a good thought, my son. No doubt then that once Eastfell is firmly behind him he would tout his case in Westrock and in the Valley."

"Except the Valley is made up mostly of Edain," put in Tryg. "Good luck convincing hundreds of Men to side with him against the throne when the cause is who the princess should marry."

"Indeed, _Adad_. Their counter-argument would be the same as mine," said Kari. "What if the princess had fallen in love with a son of Men? What if it was one of them her Maker had chosen for her? Should she really be made to give up her birthright simply because her heart or her Maker did not choose a dwarf? Should she be made to give up the throne just because that person's blood is not noble? Those are the questions the Edain in the Valley would ask."

"I think what our first step should be is to promote the princess' engagement to Master Thorin," Lord Eirik said then. "It would, of course, mean that you would not get a proper courtship before being married."

Ragin nodded. "Yes. Let the people see how happy you are. Let them see the joy you have found in each other. Hagen will have a hard time convincing any Blacklocks or Ironfists to side with him then—even the Stiffbeards might not be so easily swayed."

Thorin looked to Rejna, who appeared somewhat startled. "What are your thoughts, Princess?" he asked.

She looked to him. "My first thought is that it shouldn't bloody matter whom I marry, be he prince or pauper. I am the Crown Princess and the throne is my birthright."

He nodded. "In that we are in agreement."

"As to Lord Eirik's proposal… I _would_ rather have more time to get to know you before we are married, but as we both already know we will wed—for it is the will of Mahal—I suppose there's not much point in waiting any longer than it will take to plan the wedding, is there?"

She tilted her head then, her eyes roaming over his face. "What are your thoughts, my Lord?"

Thorin drew a breath. "The very first thing that comes to mind is 'Mahal help me'," he said, drawing chuckles from around the table. "As you know, I was far less prepared for marriage even than you, as I had reached a point in my life at which I considered myself beyond marriageable age."

He then held out his hand, waiting until she had laid hers in it before he spoke again. "But a number of wise persons have told me that I should be grateful to our Maker that you are even in my life, for it could be that we never met at all." As he had hoped, his words teased a smile from her and she gave his hand a light squeeze. "And while I dislike the thought that we must parade ourselves before the people in order to garner favor for a union that is already blessed by Mahal, I will do whatever it takes to help my Queen secure her crown. If that means I must marry you sooner than expected, so be it. It simply means we will have that much more time together as husband and wife."

For a moment there was silence, and then Eirik said, "You will, of course, need to plait all the appropriate beads into her hair before the announcement is made."

Thorin turned to him. "I have a courting bead made already, the others I will see to at once."

"And there is the matter of the bride price, not to mention her Honor Room," said Ragin. "Those we can discuss in private, of course."

The king then looked around the table. "If there are no other pressing matters to which you think my attention should be brought, I should like to call this meeting adjourned."

The other lords agreed and rose to depart, with Eirik saying he would head to the archives straight away.

"One quick question for you, my Lord Hakon," Thorin called out as the young dwarf and his father were about to walk out of the door.

"Yes?"

Thorin turned in his chair to look at him. "I am curious—if you are heir to the lordship of Westrock and likely to become a general in the regiments there, why do you serve in the capital regiments?"

Hakon smiled. "I made a request that the first year of my service be here in the capital regiments, my Lord, that I might learn the art of war from one of our finest generals—she who is our future queen."

The boy then nodded and he and Eirik left. Tryg and Kari followed, and when they were gone, Ragin looked to Thorin.

"Well, as we are already together, you and I might as well get to the business of the bride price, so that you may officially place your beads into my daughter's hair." he said.

Rejna's expression fell into a pout. As Thorin had never seen her pout he had to stop himself from laughing, though he had the thought that she was utterly adorable when she did. "Which means if you are to discuss the bride price and the Honor Room, I must go."

Her father laughed. "Come now, Rejna. It is not as though you will not see him again soon."

"You will stay for luncheon, then?" she asked him.

Thorin nodded. "As you wish, Your Highness."

With a huff she pushed away from the table and stood. Thorin stood as well and offered her his arm, saying he would walk her to the door. When they reached it, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek before Jormun and Solveg, whom he'd almost forgotten were even there, opened it for her and followed her out.

"Would you care for a brandy, Master Thorin?"

He turned toward the king, who had risen and walked over to a cabinet. Out of it he pulled a tall crystal decanter.

"I believe a drink would be welcome, my Lord," Thorin replied as he walked back toward the table.

When they were both seated again with a drink before them, Ragin looked to him and said, "I am sorry that you got dragged into this mess, Thorin. I knew Hagen was ambitious and that he had designs on putting Halvar on the throne, but I never seriously considered he would fight this hard."

"I am no stranger to politics, Your Majesty," Thorin replied slowly. "Though I despise playing the game, play it I will if it means Rejna is given her due."

The king took a drink from his glass and eyed him appraisingly. "For one who claims he does not yet love my daughter, you are certainly behaving as if you do."

"I respect your daughter first and foremost. I have witnessed Rejna in battle and have seen how she treats her subordinates in the army. I have watched her with her friends and with the common folk. She is fierce, skilled, kind, and compassionate—she is a dam I would admire even were she not my One."

He reached for his own glass and took a swallow of the amber liquid within. "In Erebor, in the centuries before the dragon, a female heir would have been expected to marry a noble dwarf as well, but even were he common, if he were respectable the people would have accepted him. Their only resistance would have been if she had chosen a mate from outside our race."

"And what if it were Mahal who chose for her?" Ragin countered.

Thorin lifted his eyes to the king's. "His choice would be respected, but I regret that her children would still not be allowed to inherit. She would be expected to name an heir of her blood or from one of the noble houses," he confessed. "The dwarrow in the north are not yet in a place where they would accept an heir of mixed blood."

Ragin snorted before taking another pull of his drink. "Sadly, though intermarriage is common in Dwarrowvale, I suspect our dwarves are the same. It is most fortunate that Mahal did not put my daughter in that position, for she has enough battles ahead of her just to become a ruling queen." He paused and gave Thorin a hard look. "You _will_ allow her to be a true queen, I hope?"

"As I never imagined I would be in a position to become king when I chose to relocate here, Your Majesty, you need not worry that Rejna will bear the title of queen in name only. I would be proud to have her rule beside me even if we were in Erebor."

The king nodded and then raised his glass to him. He then downed what was left in it and said, "So, bride price. I've an idea what I would like you to do in lieu of the traditional offer of gold."

"If it is within my power, it will be done, my Lord."

"You know how to make weapons, correct?" Thorin nodded. "Well then, I would have you make for me a sword, one such as I have never seen before. The grip I would like for you make out of ivory from the tusk of a whoolly olyphant."

Thorin nodded. "I am certain I can acquire a large enough piece from either a jeweler or one of the smithies."

"Ah, but there's a condition, my boy," the king said, causing Thorin to raise a questioning eyebrow. "I would have it be from a fresh kill. There's a hunt every year in the north of Harondor. The hunters will, conveniently, be leaving in just a few days. I would have you join them, for every hunter is granted a piece of tusk in addition to a portion of the meat and the hide."

A chuckle escaped him. "You do not intend to make this easy for me. I have never had cause to hunt olyphant before," Thorin said.

Ragin scoffed. "I am granting you permission to marry my only daughter, Master Thorin. Surely you can at least kill an olyphant—or help kill one—in order to secure her hand."

They stared at one another for a moment, then both loosed a hearty laugh. With a hand over his heart, Thorin nodded his head as he told the older dwarrow, "It shall be done, my Lord."

Ragin then glanced around them. "Seeing as Rejna already has a fine home, you've no need to build her one. Though she did say she liked the hobbit house Lord Commander Dwalin built for his wife, so perhaps a cottage in the valley wouldn't be a bad idea—a place the two of you can get away to for a change of pace. Or you can select a room here within the palace and do something with it that you believe would honor her."

"Or maybe I should just go all out and do both," Thorin joked, then paused, the snifter with the last of his brandy in it halfway to his mouth. "I _could_ do both… Rejna would certainly not be expecting a getaway cottage _and_ an honor room."

The king laughed again. "And here I thought Hagen was ambitious. I've no doubt Rejna will be quite impressed with you for going to such lengths to please her."

"Speaking of pleased…" Thorin downed his brandy and set the glass on the table, then reached into the inner pocket of his vest and pulled out the courting bead he had made. He held it out to the king that he might see it.

Ragin took the sapphire from his palm and examined it. "Now this is something. However did you get the little crown on the top there?"

Thorin grinned. "It was not easy to craft one so small. I had to melt the silver down time and again before I managed one that looked right."

"If you're asking what I think you are, Rejna will like this very much," the king said then, handing the jewel back to him. "And as negotiation of the bride price is concluded, you may give it to her today, if you wish. The betrothal bead will, of course, have to wait until you have the sword finished."

"If our plan to charm the people of Dwarrowvale is to work, I must get that sword finished quickly upon returning from the olyphant hunt," Thorin mused.

"I do not doubt the people will be charmed. As you said, my daughter is kind and compassionate when it comes to our subjects," Ragin told him. "I do not know a single one that does not already admire her."

"Indeed," agreed Thorin with a nod. "Though in your lands for little more than a moon, not once have I heard either of you spoken ill of."

"That is some comfort, and gives me hope yet that the cry of the people to see Rejna as their queen may yet be heard."

Ragin picked up the decanter then and poured them each another snifter full. At Thorin's raised eyebrow, the king chuckled and said, "It's been a hell of a morning, and surely it is five drums somewhere." He lifted his glass. "Come, let us toast to our future queen—to Rejna."

Thorin raised his glass as well. "Long may she reign."


	50. Chapter 50

**Thanks ever so very much to the wonderful people who reviewed chapter 49: Robinbird79, Guest, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, readergirl4985, dojoson41, Rogue Lion, Aashi, Celebrisilweth, Guest, and Emina. Every one of your reviews made my day! Thanks also to all the folk out there quietly reading along.**

 **Guest 1 - I'm glad you're excited for Balin and Nori's arrival. Timeline-wise, it'll be about two months until they arrive in Dwarrowvale. In reality, there's a number of character developing chapters before I get to do a little time jump, so... chapter 55 or 56.**

 **dojoson41 - Balin's arrival will prompt Thorin to come forward, but not quite the way you imagine.**

 **Rogue Lion - Thank you so much for saying this story is one of your favorites! I'm so chuffed you're enjoying the story progression and character development. I'm a little confused, though, by what you said about Kíli's child inheriting over Fíli's, because there is no such reference. And the final chapters are quite a ways ahead (this story is going to be longer than my first, which was 79 chapters!), so I hope you stick around!**

 **Aashi - Yep, Thorin has found himself in quite the political pickle. I'm glad you're enjoying my take on court life - I imagine these kinds of machinations happened a lot in societies like those in Middle-earth.**

 **Guest 2 - The hunt is in chapter 51, I hope you're okay with how I handled it! I based the idea off of something I read in a book that's set during the Stone Age, which is why it's a whoolly olyphant instead of a regular one. And I promise you (and everyone else!) that Balin and Nori will be along soon. Their arrival definitely heralds a change.**

 **Emina - Rejna, like most women, doesn't want to be forced to do anything she doesn't want to do. She's never wanted to marry Halvar, and having discovered her One in Thorin, she never will! She wants who her Maker chose because she knows Mahal doesn't make mistakes. She _is_ a perfect bride for Thorin, because she's strong-willed and independent and speaks her mind - which is exactly what he needs. Like Dwalin, he wouldn't do with a demure, mousy female at all!**

* * *

 **50\. In the Company of Misery**

* * *

For the past couple of days, Kíli had been doing what Fíli had always done for him: he looked after his brother.

Fíli had met his One, and days later she had left him. Oh, Melindë certainly hadn't rejected him—his brother said they'd come to an understanding, and would discuss their relationship further when she returned from her fishing trip. He said he could not wait until their shipment of treasure had come because then he could show her she did not have to work on a fishing boat anymore. He seemed almost…content.

Kíli had always heard that being parted from your One was akin to torture for a dwarf—Larkspur had been in the same village in the Shire and Dwalin had still bemoaned her absence each night—but Fíli did not seem to be as miserable as he'd expected him to be.

Had he been wrong, or…?

"Hey Dwalin, do you think they've done it?"

Dwalin harrumphed over the nails he held between his lips. "Has who done what?" he asked as he took one and positioned it.

Kíli gestured with one hand down to the ground, where his brother was trimming stone to make tiles for the roof of the stable. "Fíli and Melindë. You were such a boar to live with until you and Larkspur were married. Fee was a miserable sod until the night of the housewarming, but since then he's… I don't know. He just doesn't seem as bummed as I'd thought he would be with her gone."

"'Tis because he knows she will return," Dwalin said. "Now how that still."

Kíli held the last of the roof beams in place while Dwalin hammered it so it would stay. "Yes, he knows she's coming back, but… Come on, Dwalin. You remember what it was like enduring the firestorm until you and Larkspur could be together—you grumbled all the time that it was killing you. Fee's not grumbled once—not one time! Well, he's said he misses Melindë, but he hasn't complained about her being gone near as much as you did when Larkspur was practically just down the road."

Dwalin had set the last nail before he replied, shaking his hammer at him. "Now you listen here, boy—what goes on between a dwarf and his One is private. If Fíli and Melindë have already lain together, that is nobody's business but theirs."

He hammered the nail into place, then said in a lower voice, "Though it does not surprise me such may be the case. Fíli never did like to wait."

Kíli grinned. "And he has long had a fondness for daughters of Men," he said. "Now he has one of his very own that he doesn't even have to share."

"Aye, so I advise you to keep your mitts off, brother."

Kíli and Dwalin looked to each other then down to Fíli, who stood staring up at them with a smirk upon his face. "Come now, fellas—do you think Mahal gave us these large ears for nothin'? I've heard every word."

Heat rose in Kíli's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Fee. I really don't mean to be nosy, but I was concerned you'd find her being gone difficult to endure."

Fíli snorted. "You were just afraid you'd walk in on me pleasuring myself again—which I still say was your fault for not knocking first."

He lifted a tile and inspected it, then with a nod set it aside with the other finished pieces. Fíli was scrutinizing another when he said, "The answer is yes, by the way."

Kíli and Dwalin looked to one another again, both of them grinning before they turned and jumped in unison to the ground. "How did that even happen?" Kíli asked as they walked over to him. "I figured with what she told us, it might be a good while before…you know."

Fíli sighed. "Aye, so did I. But do you remember me telling you what that bastard Etten did to her mother and brother's grave?"

He remembered. Dwalin, Thorin, and even Larkspur had been incensed that a person could be so cruel as to dig up the dead in order to mess with someone he didn't like. Kíli had wished he'd been there to watch his brother slam the arsehole into that table.

"Well, she was pretty emotional after that," his brother went on. "Melindë needed comforting so… I gave it to her."

Fíli groaned then and rested his hands on the makeshift worktable. "Believe me, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. Melindë was so raw, so haunted." He looked up at them. "I gave her every opportunity to change her mind, because I was willing to wait until we are married. Truly I was, because she is different than all those brothel girls. She is so much more special and I want so badly to do right by her."

Dwalin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you do, lad," he said. "Mahal's most precious gift to us is to be treated with greatest honor."

"She said she wanted to forget him," Fíli told them. "That she wanted me to make her feel alive again because she was tired of feeling empty."

"Fíli, I do not think you need worry you took advantage of your lady," Dwalin assured him. "You gave her precisely what she needed in that moment, which was you. I see no need for regret."

Fíli nodded, then said, "I told her I wanted her to live in the mountain with me. That I want to make her my wife, that I knew it from the moment I first kissed her."

"Oi," Kíli said with a frown. "How did she take that?"

His brother scoffed as he shook his head. "Gave her quite a shock with that, I did. She said she'd think on it and we'd talk when she returned."

"Well then, with any luck you'll be married before Thorin," Kíli suggested.

"Maybe not."

They all whirled at Thorin's voice, as none of them had heard him approach. Kíli noted he wore a scowl on his face. "Uncle, what happened? Why was Rejna upset this morning?"

Thorin stripped off his vest and laid it on the end of the table. He was muttering in Khuzdul but his voice was so low that even their sharp hearing had trouble making out his words. After a moment he growled softly, and then filled them in on his morning in the palace.

"Well that's bollocks!" Kíli shouted. "How can he do that to his own princess?"

"An ambitious bastard like Hagen cares not whether what he does is right, Kíli," Dwalin said with a sneer. "So determined the likes of him are to get what they want, they care not who gets hurt in the process."

"If I didn't know any better," Fíli said with a snort, "I'd think Hagen was a member of the Brotherhood."

"For all we know, Fee, he is," Kíli retorted.

"This is not at all how I had hoped to approach courting the princess," Thorin said. "Though the firestorm burns within me every time she is near, every time I touch even just her hand, I had hoped as Fíli does—to do right by her. I thought I might make the official proposal on my birthday and perhaps set the wedding for Durin's Day, that Balin and Nori could be here to celebrate with us."

Kíli looked to Dwalin, who rolled his eyes at the grin he wore.

"Here I am still bloody mind-boggled that I have even met my One," Thorin was saying. "Now our relationship is to be rushed in order to secure the throne. I will have no time to get to know her as well as I would like to before making her my wife. I'll have no time to grow my feelings for her—the first time I take her into my bed I may not even love her! What kind of dwarrow does that make me?!"

" _Irak'adad_ , like me you have lain with other females whom you did not love," Fíli said slowly.

"Aye, nephew, but did you not yourself say moments ago that Melindë was different than those women? That she was more special?" Thorin countered. "Rejna is the same to me—she means so much more than those females ever could. A dwarf should love the one he calls wife when he gives her that title."

"And you will, I don't doubt," Dwalin said. "If you do not already and simply do not recognize it as such because you never expected to know it."

Thorin stared at him unblinking for a full minute. "Is…is that even possible?"

Dwalin offered him a smile. "Do you not remember that I declared my love for Larkspur before I even gave her her courting bead?"

"Melindë asked me if I might love her someday," Fíli put in. "And already I know that I do. My heart bursts with wanting to tell her so."

Kíli watched his uncle turn as though in a daze. He took a few steps away from them as he ran a hand through his hair. "Do I already love her? We were asked that by Lady Kari and we both said no, but that we knew one day we would. Could we…could we simply have been too afraid to admit it?"

"Ask yourself this question, Uncle…" said Fíli. "Can you live without her?"

Thorin looked over his shoulder. "No. Absolutely not—Rejna is _mine_."

A look was shared between Kíli, Fíli, and Dwalin. "I think that's your answer," Kíli said.

His uncle turned to them fully, his expression a mixture of surprise and wonder. Then suddenly be began to laugh, and tipped his head back to look at the sky. "So this is what you meant!" he shouted. "Love. A wife and children! Oh, you clever bastard, you!"

Thorin continued to laugh, which now caused some concerned looks to pass between his kin. "Uncle, are you all right?" Kíli asked.

The elder dwarrow looked at him. "Sulladad told me not to grieve for the loss of Erebor, _Irakdashat_. That it was a pittance compared to the new destiny that awaited me. When I asked what he meant, he said only that it was the deepest and most desperate desires of my heart."

For the first time in decades—since he was a child, even—Kíli noticed moisture in his uncle's eyes. To see him moved to tears caused emotion to swell beneath his own breast.

"I did not give it much thought," Thorin said. "So consumed was I with ensuring our people were safe. That we had what we needed, that we would _survive_. When your brother was born, and then you, I knew the line of Durin would go on and I gave the matter no further thought at all. But always, deep down, laid a wish I have never before spoken aloud: that I would know what it was to love and be loved. To have children of my own. And now the possibility of both are before me."

Dwalin walked up to one side of him and Fíli to the other. They each put a hand on his shoulder, then Dwalin said, "Now we are all of us blessed."

 _All of us but me_ , Kíli thought morosely. _Mahal, I beg you… do not let it always be so_.

 **-...-**

"Thorin!"

An uncontrolled bubble of laughter rose in Thorin's chest at the sound of Rejna's voice.

"I don't know why you're laughing," murmured Dwalin from across the worktable, where they were cutting wood planks for the stable roof, over which would go the tiles Fíli had shaped. "That's the 'you're in trouble' tone. I'd be scared if I were you—you've been courting only a couple of hours and already she has it mastered."

"Aye, but considering there was a time when I thought never to hear it directed towards me, I will enjoy it every time," Thorin replied.

His cousin snorted. "I've got diamonds that say you'll tire of it within five uses."

Thorin grinned. "Challenge accepted," he said, then turned to face his approaching princess and her bodyguard.

" _Amrâlimê_ , to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought not to see you until this evening," he greeted her.

Rejna paused in mid-stride at his use of the endearment and a smile came to her lips. It just as quickly disappeared and she continued toward him.

"What is this nonsense I have heard from my father that you are to join the olyphant hunt?" she demanded.

"If he told you of that, then I would think he'd have mentioned also it is a condition of the bride price that I must acquire ivory from a fresh kill for the sword I am to make him," Thorin told her.

"He might have mentioned it," she said.

He frowned. "Then I do not understand why you are upset when you agreed to a quickening of our courtship—"

"Hagen goes on that hunt every year," Árni interrupted him.

Thorin looked to the bodyguard. "So?"

Rejna jabbed a finger into his shoulder, effectively drawing his attention back to her. "So? Thorin, he will see it as an opportunity!"

Dwalin came around the worktable. "An opportunity for what?"

Suppressing a groan, Thorin looked to him and said, "My almost-bride-to-be is of the mind that Lord Hagen will try to do me harm in order to clear the way for his son."

A scowl fell on Dwalin's face. "You did not mention that earlier when you told us of him."

"Because I refuse to subscribe to paranoia, Dwalin," Thorin replied, feeling exasperated. "Or to assume the worst of a dwarrow who has done nothing but prove himself a pompous arse."

He turned back to Rejna and Árni. "Has Hagen ever been accused of violence before?"

"Not directly," replied Árni. "But if you'll recall, I told you this morn that any action he takes will be done in such a way as to not be traceable back to him."

"Thorin, Lord Hagen is ruthless," added Rejna. "Eastfell was not even his to inherit, and it has been said he made no secret of his wish that he'd been born first instead of second. When his older brother lost a leg in an accident the cause of which was never discovered, Hagen began to openly decree that a crippled dwarf was unfit to be Lord. Grev eventually bowed under the weight of public opinion and abdicated his lordship."

"Well, I can assure you, Princess, that if I lose a leg I will not be abdicating you to Halvar," Thorin said.

She fisted her hands on her hips and scowled. "This is not a joke! I know Hagen far better than you, and I do not trust him. At least take someone with you—Gunnar or Dag can look out for you."

"I'll go," said Dwalin.

Thorin shook his head. "Dwalin, I tell you it is not necessary."

"The concern in your One's eyes says otherwise, _Iraknadad_. I gave my word to Dáin that I would look after you—would you have me disobey my King's command?"

A growl escaped him and Thorin threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! Do as you like, I cannot stop you. But you'll be the one explaining to your wife that you will be leaving her alone for ten days to go with me for no other reason than that you all fear for my safety without any true cause to do so. Now I would have us drop the bloody subject as I have long tired of speaking of it."

The three dwarves around him blanched at his sudden burst of anger, but he ignored their shocked expressions as he pushed past Dwalin and headed for the house. Larkspur was off with her new friends making clothes for the baby, for which Thorin was glad because then he did not have to encounter her and risk blowing up at the hobbit as well. In the bathroom he relieved himself and washed his hands, then stood staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was not pleased with himself for allowing his annoyance to get the best of him in front of Rejna, but neither did he think there was cause for so much concern.

With a sigh, he left the bathroom, knowing he at least needed to apologize to his One for losing his temper. He paused on finding her waiting for him in the parlor. Alone.

"Where is your chaperone, Princess?" he asked.

Rejna stood from her place on the sofa. "Árni is just outside," she said, then took a step toward him. "Thorin, I know you think I'm overreacting—I pray to Mahal that I am. But as I said, I know Hagen better. I've known him longer. And I just…"

Thorin felt his expression soften when her voice trailed off. He did not want to trivialize her concern for him—he was touched that she so strongly desired to see him safe—but he needed to make clear his feelings. "From where I stand, your fear appears to stem from your personal dislike of Hagen and a few tawdry stories which may or may not have their roots in truth. Rejna, I am just weeks away from my 196th birthday. I have not survived nearly two centuries of struggle with my people; have not survived battles with goblins, orcs, mountain trolls and more on my rugged good looks alone. I have survived because of skill, cunning, and an unquenchable desire to _live_. That I am here after all that is proof it would take a great deal of effort to do me even an injury."

"I don't even want you injured."

He stepped up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "And I won't be. While I do not believe we should concern ourselves that Hagen will be so foolish as to attempt to kill me while on this hunt, that you are so concerned enough to warn me means I will be on my guard around him at all times. He will not slip anything into my food or drink, and now with Dwalin going as my second shadow, he is not likely to stab me from behind."

Drawing her to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her as he said, " _Amrâlimê_ , please do not worry so. I will be fine."

Rejna hummed into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Is it foolish that I find so much joy in hearing you say that?"

A chuckled rumbled from him. "Say what?"

" _Amrâlimê_."

Thorin smiled into her hair. "No more foolish than the joy I felt when you said _amrâlumê_ for the first time."

"I know we must still become better acquainted, but… I think I love you, Thorin." Rejna stood back from him just enough to look up into his face. "That is why the thought of you coming to harm frightens me so deeply. I can no longer imagine my life without you in it."

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "In that our thoughts are the same. Once I thought never to know my One, but now that I have found you I will not let you go. I love you, Rejna."

The moment the words passed through his lips, Thorin knew with every fiber of his being they were the absolute truth. Unable to contain the joy he felt, he bent his head and sealed his lips over hers, kissing her softly at first. Then the firestorm's demand for more prompted him to deepen the kiss, and as before, Rejna responded with enthusiasm. He was aware of nothing but the taste of her and his need to claim her body as well as her heart, but somehow through the fog of desire, when his hands began to pull at her belt to release it, Thorin came to his senses and backed away.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice heavy with the effort to restrain himself. "Now I truly understand why unwed females are not to be left alone with males they have no relation to. It is dangerous."

Her breath was coming in pants as his was, and her smile was wicked. "It is a wonderful danger. I do hope you finish _Adad_ 's sword quickly upon your return from the hunt, that I may begin the planning of our wedding, _amrâlumê_. Enduring the firestorm will be torture until we meet in the marriage bed."

Torture was how Dwalin had described it, Thorin thought. Now he knew precisely what his cousin had meant. That Rejna endured it also was scant comfort to his raging hormones, but the Edain had a saying...

Misery loves company.


	51. Chapter 51

**ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, Robinbird79, readergirl4958, Celebrisilweth, Guest, and Aashi - thank you all so very much for the reviews! I'm always chuffed by the kind words. Thanks also to all the silent folk who are reading along with us.**

 **Guest - Yes, lots of things are happening. Thorin's relationship is turning out to be the most complicated one, lol. He and Dwalin and Fíli are handling things well, I think. Thorin and Dwalin will certainly be distracted by the hunt in this chapter.**

 **Aashi - I've always imagined the dwarves as being very open and honest, at least with each other and especially so with family. Fíli respects his brother's concern, which is why he was so forthcoming with the truth. Plus, he probably was a little worried he'd taken advantage of Mel, but Dwalin set him straight. And thank you so very much for all the reviews of the Glimpses shorts. I'm so glad you liked my work and my friend Daniella's pieces.**

* * *

 **51\. Become the Hunted**

* * *

"So, we are going hunting together."

Thorin suppressed a groan as he turned to face Lord Hagen. "So it would seem, my Lord," he replied.

"I feel compelled to warn you, if you've never hunted olyphant before it can be mighty dangerous," Hagen said, his tone conciliatory.

A glance at Dwalin showed Thorin his cousin thought much the same of the Eastfell lord as he did. "Your warning is appreciated. However, I have faced far worse dangers than an angry olyphant and lived to tell the tale, as has my kinsman. I'm quite certain we can handle ourselves."

Hagen looked between them, his eyes lingering for a moment on the tattooed and scarred Dwalin. When he flicked his eyes back to Thorin, he offered a curt nod, then turned on his heel and marched away.

"So… That was Hagen," Dwalin murmured as they watched him cross through the growing group of hunters, who were gathering outside the east entrance of Dwarrowvale. "You're right about one thing: he's a pompous bastard. So gracious of him to basically warn us something will be tried, and I do not mean against the animals."

Thorin snorted. "Aye, it would seem so—but do not let Rejna hear of it, for pity's sake. She is concerned enough he will make some move against me."

He looked around then at the males—and a few females—saying goodbye to loved ones. "Speaking of the princess, where the devil is she? I'd have thought she would come to see me off, knowing I go that I may secure her hand."

As he spoke, the crowd parted and he noted her coming toward him. With her was, of course, Árni, but also Larkspur, the three wolves, and his nephews—Kíli suspiciously carrying a travel pack and his bow, the reins of Larkspur's pony in hand.

"What is this?" Thorin asked when they stopped before he and Dwalin. "The two of you gave your word you would look after Larkspur and the wolves."

Fíli and Kíli looked at one another. "And I will, Uncle," Fíli said.

"But this is an olyphant hunt!" added Kíli excitedly. "I could not pass up the opportunity to show the master of the Hunter's Guild my skills as an archer."

Thorin had to give him that—Kíli had been so busy the last five weeks helping build Dwalin's house and the stable that he'd not had the chance to inquire about the instructor's position that had been mentioned to him.

"Fíli, how are you to keep an eye on my wife when you've pledged to repair Melindë's house in her absence?" Dwalin asked.

"I can do embroidery and sewing anywhere, husband," Larkspur said as she stepped up to him and placed her arms about his waist. "I can walk with Fíli down to Melindë's house and work on the clothing for our child there when I am not with Sindri and the other girls."

A large, goofy grin split Dwalin's face when she mentioned their baby. Thorin knew he was ever so excited that he was going to be a father, and that he could not wait for her to begin showing her condition. His cousin had confessed he feared some reprisal from Balin for not telling him he knew of the resurrection, regardless of having been sworn to silence, and believed that informing him Larkspur would soon bear him a son—thus continuing the family line—would soften his brother's anger.

Rejna stepped up to Thorin and embraced him wordlessly. He sighed as he wrapped his arms about her shoulders, mindless of the folk who were undoubtedly now staring at them. She'd been proudly wearing her courting bead displayed for all she encountered to see for the last two days, but this was probably the first time a large number of Dwarrowvale's citizens had seen the two of them _amralruki_.

"I will miss you, Thorin," the princess murmured against his chest.

"And I will miss you, Princess," he replied softly. "But do not be troubled, for we shall return in no more than a fortnight, and I vow that within a day or two I will have your father's sword completed."

"Then we will be engaged and I can plan our wedding."

"Indeed, _amrâlimê_ ," he told her, then held her away from him so that he could give her a kiss.

He heard Árni snort. "Please. As if you're not already planning the wedding, Princess," the bodyguard said. "You just can't approach the dressmakers or the florists or anyone else that might contribute until the betrothal is official."

Thorin noted a gleam in Rejna's eye as she took a step back, and he knew that Árni was telling the truth. She grinned and shrugged. "So what if I am? Starting now will simply make the actual event run that much smoother."

Thorin grinned. "So all I have to do is show up?"

She swatted playfully at his arm. "Hardly. I shall certainly ask for your opinion on a number of details, but I cannot _officially_ ask you until I am wearing my betrothal bead."

"All right dams and dwarves—and men—listen up!" called out a booming voice Thorin instantly recognized as that of the master of the Hunter's Guild. "Time to form the line and move out. The sooner we leave, the sooner we return."

The milling crowd of about 30 hunters began saying final goodbyes and herded ponies into the line that began to form. A couple of Edain males joining them had wagons attached to their horses' saddles for carrying the extra meat and hide not claimed by the hunters, which would be distributed for free upon their return on a first come, first served basis.

Thorin bent to bestow affection onto Bahûna and reminded her, though he knew he did not have to, to obey Larkspur's commands. Kíli did the same with Thafar; their wolves were staying behind with their brother out of a concern for their safety—neither he nor his nephew wanted to see them get trampled by either pony or olyphant. He then gave to Rejna a last embrace and kiss as Dwalin did to his wife, then they climbed into their ponies' saddles and took their place in line.

The caravan of hunters walked south along the bank of the Ringlo until they came to a path through the eastern arm of Dwarrowvale, where they turned east. The march was not hard but a fast pace had been set, and by the time the sky was dark, they had made it across the Serni River.

Kíli and Dwalin were setting up the tent the three would share and Thorin was getting a fire started for their dinner when Hagen approached.

"Might I have a word in private, Master Thorin?" he asked.

Thorin stood and looked to Dwalin and Kíli. "I will not be long," he told them, then gestured for Hagen to precede him.

They walked a short distance away to the riverbank in silence, and for a moment stood there just staring at the water as it flowed by.

"I care about my kingdom, Master Thorin," Hagen began at last.

 _But it is not your kingdom_ , Thorin thought sharply, though he kept his expression neutral. "It is good that you care about Dwarrowvale's people," was his response.

"That includes the princess. I do not deny she has a right to be queen—she is the king's daughter, after all. But she would let her stubborn pride get in the way of her having the title, it would seem."

Thorin looked at him sideways. "Is it truly stubborn pride to accept the Maker's choice? He has chosen me for her, and her for me. Would you have us deny his will?"

"I am not suggesting either of you defy Mahal's will, but to take into consideration the laws that have governed our society for centuries," Hagen countered.

"So you're saying that a law written by mortal children of the Maker ought supersede his will? Is the latter not held to be higher than any law?" He turned to the other dwarrow then. "Mahal has decreed I am to be Princess Rejna's mate. Is his choice of me alone not enough to prove to you he sees me as fit to be your king?"

Hagen turned to face him then. "Do you desire to see Rejna as queen of her people?"

Thorin frowned. "Of course I do."

"Then you must convince her to follow the law as written."

He was flabbergasted—Hagen was contradicting his own words. "And what of our connection to each other?" Thorin asked. "For the only way to follow the law as written would be for Rejna and I to deny our bond. We cannot do that."

"She can marry Halvar and still have her One. You would simply have to accept being less conspicuous with your affections. So long as the princess bears a male heir for my son, I don't care who she fecks on the side."

Rage flared white-hot in his chest, and Thorin took an involuntary step closer. "How _dare_ you make so an insulting suggestion about your Princess!" he seethed, barely restraining the urge to deck the other dwarf. "To even propose such a thing is blatantly disrespectful and borders on scurrilous! How _dare_ you!"

Hagen's own neutral expression fell and became hateful. "And how dare _you_ show up here out of nowhere, a bloody common dwarf claiming the thinnest of connections to dwarrow royalty with delusions of grandeur that you will become king?! You and Rejna must think me a fool. She knew I was petitioning the king for her hand for my son—a noble dwarrow and high-ranking officer in our army—and foolishly not desiring a fine dwarf like my Halvar, she has convinced you to falsely claim you are each other's One. What did she promise you, boy? Riches? Her virginity? One such as she is not likely to still be pure, if she would scheme to thwart the law in such a blasphemous manner."

It took every ounce of his will not to pull his sword and open Hagen's gut. But oh, Thorin wanted so badly to kill him in that moment. Not just hit or humiliate—he genuinely wanted him dead.

"The only one guilty of blasphemy is you," he managed through clenched teeth. "This conversation is over."

Turning on his heel, he stalked away from the elder dwarrow near to praying he would try something and give him an excuse. But he did not; he only heard Hagen snort loudly and return to his own campsite.

"Something tells me that one narrowly avoided falling into the river with a hole in his gut," Dwalin murmured as Thorin stalked back into their small area of the camp.

It was several minutes of cursing under his breath in Khuzdul later that he managed to calm himself enough to speak without screaming in anger.

"Un-fecking-believeable!" Kíli hissed when he'd finished recounting the talk he'd had with what he now knew was his enemy. "He actually suggested you let the princess marry his son and that you should just be her lover?"

Thorin snorted angrily. "Aye, the fecking bastard. Never in my life have I desired to take my sword to one of my own kin, as no dwarrow should spill dwarrow blood. But I swear, it is only by the grace of Mahal that he still lives. That last insult he said of her came close to making me a murderer."

For a moment there was only silence around the fire, then Dwalin spoke. "Thorin, first know that I put no faith in anything that comes out of that bugger's mouth, but I feel compelled to ask you… What if Rejna is not a virgin?"

For a moment Thorin could only stare across the fire at him. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Kíli swallowing heavily, as if he expected him to lash out. But he only sighed. The thought that he would not be her first was disturbing, but he could hardly deride the princess if she had sought to experience pleasures of the flesh outside of marriage. Had not he and every dwarrow male of his acquaintance done the same?

Well, except for Kíli. He cherished females like any other of their kin and was an insatiable flirt, but even Thorin was aware that while his younger nephew was curious about sex, he'd yet to actually try it.

"I am in no position to cast judgment upon her if she is not," he said at last. "What activities Rejna pursued before Mahal brought us together is no one's business but hers."

When he saw genuine surprise on Dwalin's face Thorin scoffed. " _Iraknadad_ , you were not a virgin when you married and Larkspur knew it. Did she hold it against you?" His cousin shook his head. "Had she not been a virgin when you married, would it have truly mattered to you?"

Dwalin sighed. "No, it would not. I might have been a wee bit disappointed—"

"Doesn't that make you a hypocrite?" Kíli asked. "No offense, but from where I sit, you'd have had no real ground for being disappointed in her lack of virginity considering you did not save your own."

"Precisely my point," Thorin agreed. "I'll not make myself a hypocrite by being disheartened if it so happens I am not Rejna's first. If a dwarrow cannot save himself for marriage, he has no right being upset if his bride did not either. I've no doubt females desire sex as much as males do."

"Do you think there are some who try it out to get it out of their systems? You know, like we do," Kíli asked.

Both Thorin and Dwalin chuckled. "Not like you, lad," said Dwalin. "You haven't tried it yet."

Kíli scowled. "Maybe I have and just haven't told you. Not every male discusses his encounters, Dwalin."

"No, but Fíli would have mentioned it for sure, and you'd have certainly told your brother," Dwalin quipped.

"Not necessarily," Kíli grumbled.

"I'm afraid I must agree with Dwalin," Thorin said then. "Kíli, you tell Fíli everything. You have looked up to your brother and sought his approval for everything you do your entire life."

"In my old life maybe. This new life of ours is vastly different than the other," Kíli countered.

He had to agree with that. "Aye, that it certainly is," Thorin said. "We are each of us a different dwarf than we were before."

"Let us hope you are not _too_ different," Dwalin mused. "You're going to need every bit of skill and cunning you ever had to keep that sod Hagen from getting what he wants. I've no doubt he's a wily bastard, that one."

Thorin felt his blood begin to boil again at the mere thought of the dwarf and his preposterous suggestion that he allow Rejna to marry Halvar and resign himself to being her consort. No dwarrow would allow his chosen female—be she the Maker's choice or his own—to be had by another. Dwarves were a monogamous people and always had been. Not even in those rare relationships where two males shared a female was the dam allowed to lay with any male outside the group, nor would the female even desire to. Any dwarf that tried to sway her because she'd "already done two" was swiftly put in his place, either by the males or the female herself.

"Hagen will get what is coming to him in due time," he said at last, vowing silently that he would find a way to make the Lord of Eastfell pay for insulting his One.

 **-...-**

The hunting party arrived in northern Harondor in the evening of the fourth day of travel. Thorin had managed to avoid direct contact with Hagen but had not missed the hateful glares thrown his way when others weren't looking. He could only think how foolish he was to think his behavior would sway Thorin to his cause.

As the hunters were setting up their tents, the master of the Hunter's Guild went around informing everyone who'd not been on an olyphant hunt before how everything would work. Thorin, Kíli, and Dwalin listened intently and agreed that a young bull would be ideal—the old, the very young, and the females were to be left alone. The leader of the herd would be an ideal prize but it was impossible to separate him from the group long enough to isolate and kill him. It had been tried in years past but the lead bull always managed to escape the hunters, trampling a few in retribution as he did so.

Scouts informed the guildmaster that a herd was indeed near, and based on previous years' experience they judged the olyphants would head for the river—they were camped near the Poros—sometime in the morning. By mid-morning the next day the herd was spotted by all, and excitement for the upcoming hunt began to flow through all the hunters. After observing the heard for near half an hour and then discussing it with the group, the guildmaster agreed that two adolescent males spotted hanging off to the side of the larger group were the ideal targets. Their hide would not be too thick and tough with age, the heavy coat of hair finer, and though their ivory tusks were not near the elongated, curved length of the elder males, there would still be plenty for all.

The hunters were then divided into two groups; one would set up the kill site while the other would head for the herd and work to separate the two adolescents from the seniors. Thorin and Dwalin elected to join the hunters that would drive the two olyphants toward the kill site. They didn't hide their approach because they wanted to run the rest of the herd off.

Encircling the two young males proved to be easier than Thorin had anticipated. Once the two had realized they were being cut off from their family they became skittish and agitated. They tried to run toward the herd but were blocked by the hunters, who were shouting and waving their arms to distract them. Although it took some effort to move their targets in the direction they actually wanted them to go, at last they began to comply and, as soon as they were within shooting distance, the archers in the second group took aim.

Arrows flew toward the heads of the poor beasts, who were already bleating loudly and stamping their feet in agitation. Thorin watched with pride as Kíli's arrow went directly into the eye of one, the cleanest shot of any of them. A second volley was called for, and it was when the arrows were released that one sailed far over the two doomed olyphants…

…and would have hit Thorin in his own eye had he not been knocked out of the way by Dwalin. He growled in anger until his cousin pointed at the arrow some feet away that had narrowly missed him.

"Do you still think you are not in need of protection?" the warrior dwarf asked as he pushed to his feet and held out a hand to help Thorin to his own.

"That arrow could have been misfired by any one of the hunters," he grumbled as he dusted himself off.

Dwalin scoffed. "And you really believe that? Thorin, that bloody arrow was aimed straight at your head!"

Thorin scowled. "Let us not discuss this now. We have work to do."

His cousin grumbled unintelligibly as he went to retrieve the wild arrow. Thorin headed for the hunters now gathered around the fallen olyphants—the animals were not yet dead, but in moments they would be, with the number of arrows protruding from their skulls.

The guildmaster raised his arms and whistled to gather everyone's attention. "Let us take this last moment to thank our glorious Maker that all has gone well—no one was injured, and our hunt was successful. May the Lady Yavanna take the souls of these beasts into her embrace with our humble gratitude for their sacrifice. Many will be fed and clothed by what they give to us."

The stout dwarf then gestured to Kíli, who seemed surprised but followed his lead, and the two took position by the heads of the olyphants. They each placed their sword at the temple of the animal by which they stood, and with another blessing spoken in their native tongue by the elder dwarrow, the swords were driven deep to put the young males out of their misery.

"No mark on it to tell who it belongs to," Dwalin murmured from Thorin's right. "But you and I both know who it was that shot it."

Thorin glanced sideways at the arrow clutched in Dwalin's hand, then looked up at his cousin. He noticed a red stain spreading down his collar and turned fully to him, grabbing him by the shoulder to turn him around. There was a gash about an inch and a half wide just above his hairline that continued to bleed.

"Mahal's balls, Dwalin, you've been hurt!" he yelled.

The shout drew attention and several dwarves—including the guildmaster and Kíli—ran over.

"How did this happen?" the guildmaster asked as he examined the cut. "Everyone was clear!"

"This did it," Dwalin replied, handing him the arrow he held. "It would have taken out the princess' One had I not knocked him out of the way."

The guildmaster glanced at Thorin with an appraising gaze. "Oh, so _you're_ the dwarrow that's gotten the kingdom in a tizzy by putting that fine sapphire in my Lady's hair. Congratulations, _bahûnê_ —Princess Rejna is a fine dam, beautiful in both body and spirit."

Thorin smiled politely as he placed his hand over his heart and nodded his head. "Thank you, good sir. I do not know why Mahal has blessed me so but I would not question his will, and I am most grateful for the gift of the princess' heart."

Murmurs went through the group saying how lucky he was that Mahal had chosen him for Rejna, and how noble he was to be humbled by the Maker's gift. Thorin kept his polite smile in place as he glanced around, raising an eyebrow only slightly when his gaze landed on Hagen, who stood behind the rest with a scowl on his face.

The guildmaster ordered one of the other dwarves, who had some medical training, to see to Dwalin's injury. The rest set immediately to processing their kill—fires were started, water was gathered from the river, and the olyphants were cut open. Some of the innards were set aside for use as the hides were being cut away and the meat sectioned. The tusks were removed last.

Thorin was helping to cure a hide when Hagen casually sidled up to him and said, "Nasty business, that stray arrow cutting your kinsman. But I did warn you that an olyphant hunt could be dangerous."

With a shake of his head, Thorin replied, "The hunt itself is not dangerous—only those who do the hunting." He turned his head to look at him fully, making sure to ensnare the other dwarf's gaze as he added, "Let not the hunter become too arrogant, lest he become the hunted."


	52. Chapter 52

**So sorry to everyone for getting this out late. I try to get my chapters posted shortly after midnight because I like to wake up to a review or two, but this morning I was preparing for bed when I realized I'd forgotten today was Monday! So hopefully I'll get a review or two before bed today, lol!**

 **As always, I give humongoid thanks to my Rockstar Reviewers. For chapter 51 they are: ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, yshxf, ValarenofGondor, readpink, gginsc, Guest 1, Guest 2, Guest 3, and Aashi. Thanks also to those of you reading along on the silent side.**

 **gginsc - Thorin acted like there was no danger mostly because he thought Rejna and her bodyguard were overreacting. And I imagine he wanted to get to know Hagen a little better himself before casting judgment on the man, though he certainly had already gotten a negative impression of him. Now he knows the warnings about him were not without merit and he will be keeping his eyes peeled around that dwarf.**

 **Guest 1 - I can imagine that it's not hard to get a couple of stories mixed up in your head if you're reading a bunch of them at the same time. No worries there. Also, thank you so very much for the compliments. As I've surely said before, I had already established in the first story of my series, The Journey of Hearts, that Thorin and the boys were dead, but I also knew I wanted to do something with them in it. However, I didn't want to do the same as other writers who had them just survive, and I couldn't anyway if I wanted to make it a part of the Forgotten Tales AU. So I had to figure out not only how to bring them back, but give them a purpose for coming back. There will be sequels - yes, more than one - because I've a whole bunch of stories planned involving many famous characters (and some of my own!). And yes, there will be some carryover into the LotR years. As for folks dying, that's a sad fact of life. Obviously a few of them will have to be sent on their way at some point.**

 **Guest 2 - I cannot divulge Hagen's plans, that would ruin the story!**

 **Guest 3 - Don't be sad about their being two olyphants killed. Besides the dwarves using everything they possibly could from the animals (including bones and internal organs), they were both adolescents. Not too old, not too young. Also, I do imagine it was a sizable herd, so losing two males won't hurt the group in the long run. I don't think I said how many they typically hunt a year, only that the hunt takes place every year. I don't imagine that they take more than two at a time, so as not to adversely affect the growth rate of the herd. Yep, the hunt went smoothly, but not without more drama from everyone's least favorite dwarf. The wedding is coming, I promise you.**

 **Aashi - Yes, it was a mighty good thing Dwalin was there to knock Thorin down! Hagen is exactly that, and he will definitely get his comeuppance before the story is over! And I had the guildmaster say they should thank Yavanna because she is usually associated with plants and animals and the like. I nearly went with Oromë, the Vala most often associated with hunting, but I figure the dwarves don't know much about him as they prefer to focus their worship on their maker and his bride.**

 **And now to Thorin having to go home and tell his lady that the bad guy tried to kill him...**

* * *

 **52\. Home Again**

* * *

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully.

This was not to say there was no tension, for Thorin, Dwalin, and Kíli were fully aware of Lord Hagen's hateful glares. The dwarf was quick to hide his loathing behind a smile if any of the others glanced his way, but from behind them he would shoot a withering stare.

Thorin knew this was mostly because the elder dwarf had not achieved his goal of killing him, and because he appeared to have won their fellow hunters' favor—nearly every member of the hunting party had approached one, two, or three at a time to ask how he and the princess had met, and to rib him a little about not knowing what he was getting into. More than one of the dwarves had said Rejna was "a dam as fierce as an angry grizzly when crossed."

He found it amusing that none seemed to believe him when he would reply that he was certain he could handle her. _If only they had known you_ , _Dís_ , he found himself thinking more than once. Thorin would smile when he recalled his sister and her force-of-nature personality, thinking that she had prepared him without even knowing it for life with a spouse. Rejna's forcefulness, like Larkspur's, never failed to bring forth fond memories.

Kíli and Dwalin were both wary of Hagen's every move following the arrow incident—which is what he had chosen to call it, though his cousin claimed he was not taking the matter seriously enough. "Call it what it was, Thorin—an attempt on your life," the younger dwarrow had hissed one night on the trip back to Dwarrowvale.

He was no fool. Thorin knew Hagen had proved Rejna's fears were well-founded. He knew he would have to be more aware of his surroundings and everyone who was near him at all times. But he saw little point in drawing attention to his awareness of Hagen's duplicity when it could not be proven beyond a doubt in the eyes of the people that the dwarrow was a criminal.

The only fear he had was telling Rejna. He had no wish to add to her concern for him, but knew there was no way to avoid telling her—if he didn't do it himself, someone else surely would. Thorin just hoped that Lord Eirik had found something in the archives that could be of use to them, as he knew without a doubt he was going to need the distraction.

By the time the party of dwarves were before the east entrance of the capital once more, a crowd of their loved ones had gathered. Larkspur ran to Dwalin as soon as she saw him while Thorin looked around for his beloved princess and Kíli searched for his brother. The hobbit's embrace of her husband was fierce—this trip was the first time since they'd met that the two had been apart for longer than a night. When Dwalin had finished kissing her thoroughly, she took one of his hands and placed it over her belly.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

He started to shake his head then paused, his eyes suddenly going wide. "Is…is that our wee babe?" he queried, his voice filled with awe.

Larkspur nodded as tears filled her eyes. "I felt the baby move for the first time yesterday, and I've felt it a few times since. I was so hoping the little one would move for you so you could feel yourself. There's life in here, Dwalin—the life we made together. Our promise. And you can see now when my blouse is off that my womb is growing, which means our child is growing, for I've gotten a bit rounder."

Dwalin grinned, then said, "I have no doubt that as our child grows you will only grow more beautiful, _Kardûna_."

"Sorry to interrupt your joyful reunion, but where's Fíli? And the wolves?" Kíli asked.

His cousin frowned as he looked around, then cast his gaze at Larkspur. "Yes, where is that boy? He is supposed to be looking after you."

"And though I regret pressing further upon you, have you any idea where Rejna might be?" Thorin put in. "For I much desire to speak with her."

Larkspur huffed out a breath. "First, Fíli _has_ been looking after me, to the point of sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms at the house rather than in his own bed. But he's been working on fixing up Melindë's house for her as you know, and wanted to get it finished as she's due back in about a week. So I said if he did not wish a distraction, I'd visit with Sindri today—the wolves are with him."

She turned then to Thorin as she said, "And that is where Rejna is, Thorin—with Sindri. She went into labor last night. I was with them until a messenger came to the palace to inform us the hunters had returned. Sindri insisted I come out here to greet my husband—not that I needed too much prodding."

The hobbit grinned up at Dwalin, who put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He placed a kiss to her temple before saying, "I should hope not, _Kardûna_. And though I'm sure you'd like to return to your friend as she labors to birth her child, I am hoping that I might persuade you to go home with me, that we might celebrate the successful hunt."

Larkspur giggled and blushed as she put her arm about his waist. Dwalin took the reins of his pony in his free hand and guided her away.

Thorin watched them until they had rounded the side of the mountain, then he turned to Kíli. "Take our ponies to the stable and our packs to the apartment if you will. I desire to see Rejna straight away and tell her of what happened before she hears it from someone else."

"Don't forget the bracelet you carved her," Kíli said. "Might help soften the blow."

"Good point, though I still wish to add gemstones to it," he replied, turning to reach into one of his packs for the circle of ivory. When he had been presented with his piece of olyphant tusk, Thorin had been delighted that there was more than enough for the grip of the sword he was to make. After judging how much he would need for it, he'd cut a section from the wider end, and over the last four days had stayed up long into the night turning the cut piece into a gift for his One. There were two smooth sides into which he had carved Khuzdul runes, and equidistant between them were two circles where he had thought to place a couple of gemstones.

 _Rubies, I think_ , he mused as he turned and headed toward the palace. At the gate he nodded to the guards as he passed through, and walked up the steps with resolute purpose. He would present the facts, firmly remind her that he was well and that Dwalin's subsequent injury was minor, and then show her the bracelet. Hopefully before she had chance to tell him "I told you so."

Inside the palace he paused, not certain where he should go. A maid passed through the entry way and stopped on seeing him.

"May I help you, my Lord?"

Thorin looked to the Edain girl with a smile. "I am come to see Princess Rejna. I was told she was with Madam Sindri, but I do not know where to find them."

The girl smiled. "Captain Árni and his wife are so excited to meet their little one. I believe Madam Sindri elected to bear her child in her own suite rather than go to the Hall of Medicine in the mountain. I'll take you there."

"Thank you," he replied with a nod. The maid curtsied and turned down a hallway; he followed her as she turned into another and then led him up a short flight of stairs. After turning down yet another hall, they came at last to a set of doors on which the maid knocked.

The door was opened by Solveg, and in silence the maid curtsied again and left.

"Ah, Master Thorin, you have returned! I trust the hunt was successful?" said the King's Guard as he stepped aside, inviting him into a well-appointed sitting room. At the same time a muffled scream was heard, and he turned toward a closed door outside of which stood Solveg and Sindri's younger brother. Árni, who'd been sitting on a sofa next to Dag, jumped to his feet at the sound.

"Something's wrong, she's screaming!" he said, taking a step toward the door.

Jormun held up his hand. "Brother, you know you cannot go in there."

A chuckle sounded from across the room, and Thorin turned again to look upon an older dwarf whose hair was almost as white as the prematurely aged Balin's. He held in his hand a glass of what looked to be brandy or whiskey, and paused with it halfway to his lips.

"Son, I've already told you, the screaming is natural," he said. "It's just her way of dealing with the pain."

Another scream rang out. Árni pushed his hands into his hair and started pacing. "I hate this waiting. I hate the thought of my One in pain—why cannot birthing be easy on a female?"

"My sister once told me, when I asked much the same question, that birthing is often difficult so as to remind us of the struggle our Maker endured when he thought he would have to smite down his original creations," Thorin said. "It is a reminder to appreciate the gift we have been given—our very lives, and the lives of our children. Our females experience the physical pain and we males the emotional pain of Mahal's choice, before Sulladad declared he would grant the Seven Fathers sentience."

Árni turned to him, his eyes widening as if just realizing he was there. "Thorin—you're back!"

"Your sister sounds like a very wise lady, sir," said the older dwarf.

Thorin looked to him. "Indeed she was," he said with a nod.

"Where are my manners?" said Solveg, then gestured toward the white-haired dwarf. "May I introduce you to Jorveg, son of Bregg. My father. _Adad_ , this fellow is Thorin, son of Targo."

"Here to serve you, sir," Thorin said with a bow of his head.

Jorveg stood and crossed the room. "At last I meet the dwarrow who has stolen the heart of our princess."

A chuckle escaped him. "I would apologize, Master Jorveg, but I am not in the least sorry," Thorin quipped with a smile.

Jorveg laughed. "I should hope not, for Rejna would be in quite a temper if you regretted Mahal's choice."

"I may have questioned it at one time, given my age, but I have come to understand that what matters most is that I have met my One at all."

"And so you will greatly appreciate all the time you have with her, and your children when they come," Jorveg observed. "Perhaps more than most dwarrow would."

Thorin swallowed. He was not even properly engaged to the princess, and already there was talk of their having children. Every time his becoming a father was mentioned by someone, or it crossed his mind, he felt a nervousness slithering down his spine. His getting married he was slowly becoming accustomed to, even with the added pressure of Hagen's motion to dismiss Rejna's inheritance.

Fatherhood he was still completely unprepared for.

Well, not entirely, he supposed. He had helped rear Fíli and Kíli to adulthood, after all. Thorin surmised it was the fact that he might within a year have a child _of his own_ that had him feeling so stunned at the prospect.

At that moment there was another long, loud scream from behind the door. Árni rushed toward it, a look of anguish on his face, only to be stopped by Jormun. Sindri's scream was followed by the distinct, lusty wail of a newborn baby.

A huge smile appeared on Árni's face, and those of his brothers by law. Jorveg grinned hugely as well. "I am a grandfather!" he said, then downed the rest of his drink in one swallow.

"I'm an _adad_. I'm an _adad_!" cried Árni, who threw his arms around Jormun and embraced him tightly, then he stood back and they head-butted each other. Árni then proceeded to do the same with Solveg, Jorveg, Dag, and even Thorin.

"Congratulations, _bahûnê_ ," Thorin told him.

The door opened a few minutes later to reveal a white-haired dwarrow dam wearing a brilliant smile, whose eyes were shiny with unshed tears. " _Agnât'dashat_ , there is someone who is eager to meet you."

Árni stepped past her and into the room, which Thorin assumed was his and Sindri's bedroom. The others followed and Thorin brought up the rear, coming to a stop in the doorway so as not to be too intrusive on this special family moment. Rejna saw him and grinned, wordlessly moving away from the far side of the bed where a clearly tired Sindri lay with a swaddled bundle in her arms. The princess came to stand beside him as Árni bent and kissed his wife's brow.

" _How are you, my dear?_ " he asked her in Khuzdul.

" _I am quite tired, to be honest. I did not imagine the labor would be this hard or take so long_ ," she replied. " _But it is worth it to see our child in the flesh_."

She moved aside a bit of the white blanket the baby was wrapped in so her husband could see more of the face. " _Say hello to your son, my love_."

"Álfir, son of Árni, son of Arnór, I greet you in the name of our Maker," Árni said softly in Westron, before slipping back into Khuzdul to begin bestowing on the boy the traditional blessings a father gave to a son.

"We should go," Rejna whispered. "Give them all some time alone."

Thorin looked down at her. "Indeed, Princess," he replied softly.

Both of them offering nods to those standing near, they turned and quietly left the suite, Dag following closely on their heels. Out in the hall Thorin looked to the soldier and said, "I assume you are standing in for Árni as Rejna's bodyguard?"

Dag nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I swear to you I will give my life for hers," he said solemnly.

"But let us hope you never have to," Rejna quickly added.

The soldier inclined his head again, then they made their way toward the royal quarters. When they reached her suite, they found her maid embroidering in a corner chair; Rejna ordered her to deliver a message to the king that the hunters had returned and she wished to see him. Dag stood unobtrusively at the door once Telka had gone while Thorin and Rejna took a seat on the sofa.

"What happened?"

Thorin looked to her with one eyebrow raised. "Why do you assume something has?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded as casual to her as it did to him.

Rejna copied his lifted brow. "Thorin, I know you well enough to discern when you are tense. Unburden your conscience and tell me."

"You are too observant for your own good, I think," Thorin told her as he tapped her nose with a finger.

She smirked in return. "Being possessed of keen observational skills is a trait that will serve me well as queen. Now spill."

Stifling a sigh, Thorin told her everything—the conversation with Hagen the first night of the trip as well as the apparent attempt on his life that Dwalin had thwarted. Her expression shifted from horrified to insulted to fearful and ultimately outraged as he spoke, to the point that she shot to her feet and began pacing, muttering angrily under her breath. Then a scream suddenly escaped her and she pulled a vase off the mantle over the fireplace; she was about to throw it across the room when the king entered.

" _Nâtha_ , that vase is three times as old as I am—I will tan your bottom if you break it," Ragin declared.

It was enough to make her pause and scowl at him. "You would not dare—I am too old for that nonsense."

Her father snorted. "Test me, girl, and see that I don't turn you over my knee like a naughty dwarfling."

Though her eyes narrowed, Rejna nonetheless complied with her father's order and returned the vase to the mantle. Thorin had to turn his eyes away from them for a moment, for an image of turning her over his own knee to spank her for an entirely different reason had come to his mind. He swallowed heavily and said a prayer of thanks that he was still seated, for surely his desire would have been noted.

" _Adad_ , Hagen tried to kill him!" she shouted. "And that was _after_ he suggested I marry Halvar and keep Thorin as my lover—he actually said I should commit _amralbinakrâg_!"

Ragin turned to Thorin. "Is this true?"

He nodded. "Though I cannot be fully certain of the former, the latter is most ridiculously true."

"Why do you say you cannot be certain?" the king pressed.

"Because honestly, my Lord, neither Dwalin nor I saw who actually fired the arrow that would indeed have killed me had my kinsman not shoved me out of harm's way," Thorin replied. "Considering the way the hunters were arrayed, it could have been fired by any one of them." _Except for Kíli_ , he added silently. His nephew never missed.

"But Dwalin doesn't think so, you said it yourself!" Rejna cried.

She then crossed back over to him and sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. "Thorin please, I beg you—consent to having a guardian. I shall go mad with worry if you don't!"

"Under the circumstances, son, I'd say having a bodyguard is a good idea," Ragin said then as he moved at last to an adjacent armchair and dropped his bulk into it. "Besides, you will soon be a prince, at which time you'd be assigned one anyway. Best you get used to the idea now."

"As you wish, though it shall be a dwarf of my own choosing," Thorin conceded. "And with all due respect to the soldiers of Dwarrowvale's army, there is no dwarf I trust more with my life than my own kin. I shall speak to Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli as soon as I am able."

He looked to Rejna then. "You are, of course, one of those I consider my kin, _Amrâlimê_. But I cannot have my bride as my guardian when she requires one herself."

Ragin cleared his throat. "There is also the matter of your having a manservant. As a prince of the realm, it is custom to have an attendant to aid you in dressing, bathing, and to perform menial tasks such as running small errands and the like. Him you can send to deliver messages so that your guard does not need to be dismissed."

Thorin's eyes widened a fraction. It had not even occurred to him that he would have a manservant as Rejna's husband, even though he knew that had he survived to be Erebor's king he'd have taken one on at some point. He knew also that like he'd been for Dáin, Dwalin would have been the head of his personal security and would have gone everywhere he did.

But Dwalin had a wife now. He would in about half a year's time, more or less, have a child to care for. Thorin felt it would be wrong to ask him to give up so much time with his family as would be required of his guardian. He would have considered Fíli but he had met his One also, and the same applied to him—he could not bring himself to ask his nephew to give up time with Melindë, not when their relationship was so new and the girl still so emotionally fragile.

Kíli was the only choice then, he mused. He hoped that the younger dwarrow would be willing, considering how much he was looking forward to joining the Hunter's Guild.

After clearing his throat, Thorin said at last, "I suppose now is as good a time as any to begin that selection process as well—though tomorrow I intend to begin working on your sword, Majesty, that it will soon be finished and Rejna and I may become officially betrothed."

Ragin smiled. "Speaking of that, we may have a way of thwarting Lord Hagen's master plan."

Thorin sat straighter. "Please, my Lord, do tell."

Rejna grinned. "Oh yes, I was going to tell you myself, but your… news…threw me off," she said. "It would seem that Hagen did not thoroughly read the subsets of the marriage law he hopes will get him what he desires."

"Indeed, _Nâtha_. While you were away on the hunt, Master Thorin, Lord Eirik's research found that if a female inheritor produces a male heir within the first year of marriage—regardless of her mate's lineage—the line is secured through him."

He felt his eyes widen again as he looked between his One and her father. "Truly regardless of her mate's bloodline?" he asked; they both nodded. "What you are saying then is that I ought hurry and finish the sword so Rejna and I may complete our bond?"

"And hope that I conceive quickly," Rejna added, " _and_ hope that our first child is a son."

Thorin looked to her. "With as many sons as are conceived between a dwarrow couple, I doubt we will have much difficulty in that regard. I am the eldest of two sons, my sister bore two sons, and my grandfather was one of three sons."

"So, my boy… Finish the sword quickly, and pray to Mahal your firstborn is male. Otherwise we've a hell of a fight on our hands," Ragin said as he stood.

Thorin and Rejna stood as well and walked with him to the door; as he was stepping through it, they heard Telka quietly re-enter the room behind them. When the king had gone, Thorin glanced sideways at the maid, who had taken up her embroidery again, and whispered to Rejna, "I do not suppose there is a chance she will give us privacy?"

The princess grinned. "Oh, how I wish—but Telka takes her duties far too seriously. And while I would very much enjoy being naughty, _Amrâlumê_ , I'd rather not give Hagen any means to deny me my right. Another of the subsets Lord Eirik found said that a female inheritor will be automatically dismissed from the line of succession if she conceives out of wedlock."

The conversation with Dwalin and Kíli that Hagen's preposterous proposal had influenced came to his mind then. Thorin leaned his head a fraction closer and lowered his voice even more. "Forgive my forwardness, Princess, but is there any sub-law which states the inheriting female must be a virgin? Must we have a witness to our union or inspection of the marriage bed after?"

She surprised him by chuckling. "Is that your way of asking if you'll be my first?"

"Partially, I admit, but also because we had those laws in the north and even I found them utterly ridiculous and insulting," Thorin replied. "I do hope they've been abolished since the retaking of Erebor. In exile they were not so strictly enforced, but with the kingdom rising again…" He shuddered when thinking of the embarrassment he knew he would have endured to have his sheets inspected the morning after his union, not to mention the humiliation his bride would have felt.

Rejna slipped her arms about his waist and looked up at him. "Thankfully no such law is _written_ , though it has long been a custom of the royal house to have the sheets viewed by the council after a royal marriage. I shall have to find a blood substitute if I cannot convince _Adad_ and the other lords to pass on that particular tradition, because the answer to your unasked question is no."

Thorin let out the breath he just realized he'd been holding. He also noted that though he felt mild disappointment he would not be her first, he was not entirely surprised that Rejna had experimented with sex. She was such a vibrant, outgoing female that it was only natural she'd have wanted to get the awkwardness of a first time out of the way.

She stood up on her toes as he had these thoughts and whispered in his ear, "How do you think I discovered Halvar doesn't like girls?"

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _amralruki_ (from chapter 51) – to spoon (lit. show affection in an openly sentimental manner)

 _amralbinakrâg_ – adultery


	53. Chapter 53

**The recent U.S. holiday is why you're getting this chapter late. Sorry 'bout that, but there was dinner (more like brunch when it was 10 in the morning) with the fam and then a whole shift at work during Thanksgiving Day sales and such.**

 **Anyhoo, I thank as always all my wonderful reviewers. Readpink, Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, Celebrisilweth, Guest 1, ValarenOfGondor, Guest 2, and Guest 3, y'all are awesome. I had a new favorite/follow recently too, but I've accidentally deleted the email so I can't give the person a shout-out by name - sorry! I do however offer sincere and humble thanks, and also wish to thank everyone reading along quietly.**

 **Guest 1 - That was a sweet moment, wasn't it? And Kíli won't see his position as Thorin's bodyguard as being a servant. I think in his mind, he'll see it as taking care of his uncle the way his uncle took care of him and his brother.**

 **Guest 2 - Árni's reaction _was_ rather comical. I thought the story could use a good, lighthearted moment. Kíli giving up on the Hunter's Guild is only temporary. I've a thing I'm going to be doing here in a few chapters where he's going to get to join the guild as well as protect his king. As for Thorin's reveal... You'll have to wait and see!**

 **Guest 3 - ACoF is categorized as "fantasy/romance". Therefore there's going to be a lot of romantic themes, including sex - and I must respectfully disagree with your interpretation that the last 10 or 15 chapters have been nothing but "sex, sex, and more sex". Yes, it's a front-end storyline right now, but that's because three of our main characters have been confronted with matings that they hoped for, but never really expected. And in my AU, until they are "properly" mated, sex is pretty much all they think about. This will not last, however, as soon as a few more plot lines are tugged. But to tell the story as in-depth as my Muse feeds it to me takes time.**

* * *

 **53\. Ghosts of Heartache**

* * *

Thorin was shocked, given the clear dislike she had of the dwarf's father. "Halvar?" he queried.

Rejna nodded, and turned at last to lead him back to the sofa. When they had sat next to one another, Thorin resting one arm around her shoulders, she laid her head on him as she said, "We'd both just joined the army—Halvar and I are the same age, though he's a few weeks older—and we graduated training together. Got quite drunk with all the other trainees after the ceremony—oh, what a party that was! Back then Halvar and I were close friends. As I walked him to his rooms in Eastfell Hall—seeing as he cannot hold his liquor as well as I he was far worse off—he started murmuring that he didn't want to die a virgin. Of course I pointed out that we'd just completed training and had not seen a battle as yet, but he was insistent that he didn't want to die someday without having been with a female at least once. At the time I had yet to catch onto his proclivity for males—perhaps he was still denying it himself, as I suspect many of them do in that situation.

"As it was, we dodged my guard at the time because he was drunk as well, and I walked Halvar back to his room. He pulled me down on top of him when I tried to lay him on the bed, and then he kissed me—"

Thorin grunted. "I do not think I need the minute details, my dear."

She laughed. "Suffice it to say, he kissed me well enough despite his condition that it stirred desire in me as well, and I thought to myself 'Why not get it over with?' Why not discard my maidenhead and be done with it, so it wouldn't be so awkward and uncomfortable when at last I did marry someday? Besides, I was more interested in soldiering and becoming an officer than in sex or marriage—I was a mere forty years old, for Mahal's sake. But I didn't think it would be a bad idea to try it, so I did. And like most first times, I imagine, it was indeed awkward. It hurt when he pierced me—"

"Rejna…"

She sat straight and turned to look at him. "Thorin, we must be able to have open and honest discussions about our lives, yes?"

He nodded. "Aye, but it is not necessary to be _that_ honest."

Rejna smiled softly. "There is a point, I promise you."

"Then get to it quickly. I have no desire to be imagining you in bed with another," Thorin muttered.

She leaned back against him again before she continued. "I don't quite know if it was my cry of pain or his own subconscious discomfort of being with a female, but Halvar suddenly…lost his strength, if you catch my meaning. I do feel sorry for him, in a way, the poor thing. He tried to regain his interest, but it had simply gone. He apologized profusely, said he did not understand why he had been unable to maintain his erection with me when the males he'd lain with in his dreams got him to the end. I don't think he meant to confess that, given how horrified he looked after he said it."

"Had he not, I would surmise it may have just been the alcohol that kept him from performing," Thorin observed. Then he glanced down at her and said, "So he's never turned your head?"

Rejna snorted. "I still hold to that, for it was not attraction to Halvar that led me to dally. I merely wanted to know what all the fuss was about, and to get it out of the way," she said.

"Do you think his father knows? Perhaps that is why he is so adamant Halvar marry you—because he does not want him taking up with a male."

"Could be he suspects," she replied. "Halvar declaring he prefers males means no heirs would be sired, which would then mean the lordship of Eastfell will revert back to Grev's line. There's also the fact that any public display of affection between Halvar and another male would bring embarrassment to Hagen, purist arse that he is."

"Has Halvar never had a relationship with a male in the last sixty-five years?" Thorin asked, genuinely curious. Though he did not understand what would drive a male to be attracted only to other males, he found himself thinking it would be a lonely existence to never know the love or touch of someone who was as attracted to you as you were them.

And when he had that thought, he gave Rejna's shoulders a light squeeze, knowing how close he had come to never knowing that himself. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his eyes had at last been opened to the beauty of having a mate in his life.

"I do not think a true relationship," Rejna replied. "But then we drifted apart after that night, so I really don't know. I wanted for years to believe it was simply because we served in different regiments, but when I finally noticed how he behaved when we _were_ around each other, I knew it was that he was afraid I'd tell his father, or my own. It's only been recently that we've begun to reconnect, but it has been slow to happen. I think our having spent time together in recent months, even though only with other soldiers around, might well be what sparked Hagen's desire to push for us to marry. There have also been a few rumors over the years of him spending time in brothels in the Valley, but only the ones that cater to _binnaith'afsal_ —which may also have contributed to Hagen's sudden furor."

"Do you think Halvar would declare his choice if he had a partner?"

She shrugged. "I do not know, though I would hope that he would finally develop the fortitude to stand up to his father for the one he loved."

Thorin snorted softly. "I think it would be good for him to stand up to his father regardless, but especially for that reason."

They were quiet for a time, the only sound their combined breathing or Telka pulling her needle over in the corner. Then suddenly Rejna surprised him by saying, "Go ahead and ask me."

"Ask you what, _Amrâlimê_?"

"If there's been anyone else."

Yes, he was curious about that. Damned curious, though obviously such thoughts were unwelcome. And while he'd understood her motivation to have sex before marriage and did not censure her for it, it did bother him to think of her in bed with other males—not so much that she had been with others, but because he simply did not want to start picturing her _enjoying_ herself with them, which would lead to jealousy he knew was irrational. Those males were her past, he was her future.

Drawing a breath, he said, "How many males you have lain with in the past—though Mahal knows I hope it is not many—is no business of mine. In the end it matters very little because now that we have met and acknowledged the bond we share, I know there will ever only be me."

Rejna slipped her right arm across his waist and gave him a one-armed hug. "Indeed. I shall never know another but you."

She then sat up enough that she could look up at him. "I mean that, Thorin. In a way it _will_ only ever be you, for what happened between Halvar and I was hardly what I would call a true experience—and there has been no other, for I had decided since that one time was an abysmal failure, it was a sign from Mahal I should just focus on my career as a soldier. I've little doubt, given the stories I have heard from various other females, that our first time together may not be entirely comfortable, given it has been more than six decades. So you may as well think of yourself as my first."

Thorin could not help himself—he smiled hugely in satisfaction and bent his head to kiss her. Rejna lifted her hand to his face and held him there when he would have done the right thing and lifted his head; it was a subtle hum from her maid, acting as their chaperone, that brought the steamy kiss to an end.

The princess hummed softly as she snuggled against him once more. "I take it you are pleased by this news, my Lord?"

"What dwarrow would not be pleased on hearing such a missive?" he countered. "And to answer _your_ unspoken question, the number is six."

"Only six? As old as you are?" Rejna teased.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Do not be a minx, _Amrâlimê_. Yes, only six. Most of them between my fiftieth and hundredth year."

"Most of them?"

He nodded though she was not looking at him, his mind turning back briefly. "Aye. Most were also daughters of Men, whom I paid coin to in brothels for their attentions. It is a common practice among young dwarf males."

Rejna snorted softly. "As if I am not aware," she said.

"Well, we do not speak of it in front of dwarrow females, and I'm sure most of us are happy to believe you ignorant though the wise among us know you are not," Thorin told her. "Just as I suspect there are dwarrow females like yourself who find willing, discreet partners, whether you pay for their time or no."

This time it was she who chuckled. "And we are also happy to think you ignorant of it, though the wise among us know you are not."

Rejna sat up then and studied his face. She took his hand in hers as she repeated softly, "You said most of them."

Thorin nodded. "In the interest of being open and honest, I did have one dwarrow female as a partner. My family was in the Blue Mountains, and had finally become comfortable in our new home, if it could even be said. There was a chambermaid in the royal house, about ten years older than myself, who had birthed a stillborn daughter. The labor had been so difficult on her, from what I'd heard, that she was advised not to attempt conceiving again. This broke her husband's spirit for he, like most married males, desired a son to inherit his holdings. The dwarrow left for the Gray Mountains soon after."

"How horrible for that dam, that her husband up and left her like that."

"I agree. Though I sympathized with his disappointment, it was no excuse for abandoning his mate," Thorin said. He drew a breath before continuing. "Though in my youth I admittedly became cold and distant in my hatred of elves and the disdain I held toward Men, the suffering of the lass moved me. One night I found her crying in a stairwell, and not having the heart to simply walk by her, I took her into my arms and offered her comfort. I meant only to embrace her, but after a few moments she brought her lips to mine with a fierce demand I had never known before. It bordered on desperate. I made an attempt to do the right thing by her but perhaps not strongly enough, for she had stirred in me a desire I thought I'd done with years before."

"So you took her to your bed," Rejna surmised.

Thorin nodded. "I did, but it was not just the one time. We carried on in secret for years before an illness took her from me."

He had not been looking at her but toward the fireplace as he spoke; he did so now. "By your countenance I know you wonder if I loved her. I cannot say for certain if I did or not, though I will admit to developing a deep affection for her. I do not believe she truly loved me, either, her heart still belonging to her husband despite her never setting eyes on him again. I think the both of us were to an extent ashamed of our affair, she for committing adultery and I for enabling her to do so. When she passed, I put all thoughts of sex and relationships out of my mind and declared myself unlikely to marry. My nephews ensured our line would go on and so became my heirs."

The princess looked into his eyes for a long, silent moment. Whatever she found in his gaze must have satisfied her, for she smiled softly as she said, "Every dwarf has a past of which they are not entirely proud. Though so you know, I find no reason to censure you—either for giving up your coin or that small piece of your heart. Our experiences help define us, Thorin. They shape us in ways we do not always acknowledge or understand. In a way I am glad you knew those females, for at least one of us will know what the hell to do on our wedding night."

In seeing that she was entirely serious, Thorin found he could to naught but laugh.

 **-...-**

The next morning dawned and Thorin awoke slowly. Part of him was eager to rise and get to a weapons forge so he could begin working on completing the bride price—not to mention adding gems to the bracelet he'd never gotten around to giving to Rejna. Within a day—two at most—he would be an engaged dwarf.

He was also reluctant to get out of bed, because it meant facing his three kinsmen and seeing which of them would serve as his guardian. Yesterday he had deemed Kíli the best choice, given he was currently unattached. Dwalin had already started his family and Fíli was likely to within the next few months, as he was. Though his cousin had the greater experience, what right did he have to ask him—either of them—to give up a part of their lives, to disrupt the happiness they had just found?

With a groan of annoyance at his mood, Thorin threw back the blanket covering him and headed for the bathroom. After taking care of his needs he hurried to dress. The morning he would spend at the weapons forge, then lunch at Dwalin and Larkspur's—he would address the issue of his bodyguard then. Then after time with Rejna touring the mountain, it would be back to the forge to work on Ragin's sword more. It was his hope to have it near to finished tonight and finished on the morrow—the sooner the better, that he and Rejna could become officially betrothed and move closer to the wedding…

…and the wedding night. It still galled him what Hagen was trying to do the royal family and the kingdom as a whole, and that possibly Rejna's only chance at saving her crown would be go get pregnant right away and hope the child was male. It was monumentally unfair to the both of them to have this burden on their shoulders—the first months after marriage should be worry free, a time when they could just focus on enjoying each other.

Well, at least they would certainly enjoy the process of trying to save the kingdom, he thought with a wry grin.

At breakfast, Thorin told his nephews that he needed to speak with them about something important, but that it could wait until lunch because he wished to discuss it with Dwalin as well. Kíli then mentioned he'd be working in Melindë's house with Fíli and offered to take Bahûna along.

Thorin agreed readily, saying, "A forge is no place for her and I will be there most of the day."

"They did a good job of staying out of the way while you both were on the hunt," Fíli said. "On the days Lark and Asrân were there she watched over them, but even when she wasn't, when they weren't wrestling or running around the yard they were plopped down in the shade sleeping."

The three turned their heads sharply when a knock sounded at the door. "Who the devil could it be this early in the morning?" Fíli wondered as his brother went to answer it.

They saw that Dwalin was their visitor, and Thorin noted Grasper and Keeper were strapped to his back, various knives tucked into sheaths on his belt; his boots each had one tucked inside.

He frowned as his cousin stepped inside. "What are you doing here at such an hour?"

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "I am Lord Commander of the King's Guard. I go where my king goes."

Kíli looked back and forth between them. "Is this what you wanted to talk about at lunch?" he asked.

Stifling a sigh, Thorin nodded. "On relaying Lord Hagen's actions—both what we can confirm and what we suspect—to His Majesty and Princess Rejna, I was advised most strongly to accept a guardian. The king went so far as to point out that when I am prince of this kingdom one would have been assigned to me anyway."

He then looked to Kíli and held his gaze. "I trust my kin more than anyone here and I made no secret of that to the king. It was my intention to ask you to serve in this capacity, _Irakdashat_ , for both Dwalin and Fíli have obligations you do not."

His nephew's expression darkened. "Oh, right—I'm the expendable one because I have no female to provide for. Thanks ever so much for the reminder, Uncle."

"Oh, come on, Kee, you know he doesn't mean it like that," Fíli said, then turned to look at him. "What do Melindë and Larkspur have to do with Dwalin or I becoming your bodyguard? Do you think us no longer capable of fighting in defense of you?"

Thorin turned to him. "Fíli, Dwalin will soon be a father and Melindë will no doubt soon be your wife. I cannot ask either of you to give up time with your new families."

"You did not ask me, Thorin," Dwalin pointed out. "It is what I do."

"Not anymore," he pointed out.

His cousin snorted. "I came along on this journey to keep you safe, might I remind you—I said I refused to let you go off without protection again. Did I not save you from having your head run through by an arrow a week ago?"

A groan of frustration escaped him. "Dwalin, I have no desire to be responsible for the possibility of making Larkspur a widow."

"And you won't. The arrow didn't kill me, either, as you can see. Just gave me a scratch."

Thorin turned a sour eye his way. "And what did Larkspur have to say about how you acquired that scratch?" he asked.

"She is glad you are safe, and I am to be more careful," Dwalin replied. "And just so you know, there's a slim chance I'd have met her regardless. Dáin was entertaining the idea of making a diplomatic journey west this year or next, to see how Belegost, Nogrod, and Highland are getting on now there's fewer dwarves in those lands. Balin wanted to go through the Shire and see Bilbo, so chances are I'd have met Larkspur then. Your resurrection just moved up the timetable a bit is all."

He shook his head as he sighed. "Hobbit lass or dwarf lass, Thorin, I'd have married within ten years of retaking Erebor because I wanted to make sure mine and Balin's line continues—we're it, you know. And whether you'd lived to be king or under Dáin's rule, I'd have been Lord Commander of the King's Guard. The lady I married would have had to accept my position and the dangers that go along with it."

"Are you saying that Larkspur understands your job as my bodyguard would entail putting yourself at risk in my stead if need demands, and might one day mean you give your life that I may live? You're telling me she's okay with that?" Thorin demanded.

Dwalin scoffed. "She's not keen on the idea that I may get hurt or even killed, but she understands, yes," he said. "Larkspur knows who you are, who you were born to be. She knows that as Princess Rejna's husband you will require protection, for not only will you be a prince upon marriage but one day you will be king. My lady wife is aware of how important it is that you live, especially since we do not yet fully understand Mahal's purpose for you. You must live if you are to find out what that purpose is."

"If you don't want either of them because they have families now, I'll do it," Kíli said. "I've got nothing else to live for, right? Might as well dedicate my life to something, have it actually mean something. What better service can I do than protecting the king?"

"And if you don't want us arguing amongst ourselves as to which of us will be your guardian," added Fíli, whom Thorin noted was studiously avoiding his brother's comment about having nothing to live for. "You can always select a guardian from among the army and hope it's not someone who feels as Hagen does."

Thorin snorted. "I'm beginning to wish I had. I wonder if Hakon would be willing?"

He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "There is another matter which none of you have considered: Whoever is my guardian will have to move into the palace when I do. Dwalin, you've just built a home for your wife so that she will not dwell too much on the separation from her family—she'll not want to give that up and you know it. And Fíli, how are you to convince your One that she will be safe with you, that she can trust you not to hurt her as she has been hurt in the past, if you are always putting yourself at risk for my sake?"

Drawing a breath, he rose and crossed the room to where a sullen Kíli stood. "Kíli, you are _not_ expendable—never have I had such a thought and never shall I. The choice of you as my guardian is based solely on the logic of Dwalin and Fíli having a duty to their Ones, and even though both Larkspur and Melindë might be made to understand, I am not willing to take the risk of their losing the dwarf they love."

Thorin reached over and placed a hand on the younger dwarrow's shoulder. "When the day comes that your One is revealed to you, you will be dismissed from your duty to me, for I would not take you from her anymore than I would take your brother or Dwalin from theirs."

For a moment Kíli only stared at him, then his gaze traveled to his brother and to Dwalin, then fell to the floor. "Do… do you think it possible?" he asked softly. "I mean, do you really think she might still be out there—that there is still hope I will know love as you all do?"

Pain squeezed his heart to hear such loneliness and despair in his nephew's voice, and Thorin stepped closer so that he could embrace the boy. "I do not believe Sulladad would be so cruel as to not reward your sacrifice as he has rewarded ours. Mahal has no doubt already chosen her for you, _Irakdashat_. You just have to be patient."

"Uncle is right, _naddith_. No way you're meant to live the rest of your days alone. You're too kind and generous a soul to not know love," added Fíli.

"I believe as they do, lad," put in Dwalin. "Your heart will be healed one day. Just give it time."

Kíli sighed as he returned the embrace at last, and after a moment he stood back and cleared his throat. "Ah, well, if I'm to be your guardian, I'd best get my sword—wait, will I have to wear armor?"

"Rejna will demand it, I don't doubt," replied Thorin with a snort.

He then turned to Dwalin. "Do not forget that you have been offered a position with the army as a training officer. We will see each other often, I imagine. But before that, there's something else I would like you to do for me—or at least to get started."

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Thorin grinned. "You're going to build another hobbit hole."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _binnaith'afsal_ – male homosexual (lit. "girl-less sexuality"; constructed by me)


	54. Chapter 54

**I'm caught up with my writing, except for the chapter still in progress. My Muse took a sudden vacation to the final frontier, touring through the time vortex along the way, which means updates will be back to once a week or as often as I get a chapter finished. I'm rather disappointed in that myself, I loved being ahead.**

 **Anyhoo... Thanks much, as always, to my Rockstar Reviewers. For chapter 53 they are: ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, readpink, readergirl4985, ushxf, ValarenOfGondor, Rogue Lion, Celebrisilweth, Guest, and Aashi! Thanks also to all the lovely people who read along in silence.**

 **Rogue Lion - With all due respect to Prof. Tolkien, who was a follower of the Roman Catholic faith and therefore would have considered it a sin, homosexuality is a factor of human existence. Dwarves may not technically be human, but they are sentient beings like we are and I imagine them to have sex drives not unlike our own - and to that end I suspect there are individuals among them who are not sexually attracted to the opposite sex. The storyline of Halvar being gay is simply my way of introducing a dose of realism into the story. Therefore it's perfectly lined up with this setting, and while I see no problem with introducing gay characters in Middle-earth, I won't make any of the canon characters gay out of respect for their creator's beliefs.**

 **Guest - Quite a lot of people want to give Kíli a hug right now, lol! Heck, even I want to hug him, for all the torture I'm putting the poor lad through... though I know he'll thank me in the end. ;) I can't give any answer as to who his future bride is or what Thorin and Rejna's first child will be because spoilers! Balin and Nori will be coming along soon - I swear! - and are going to be bringing along a surprise. A couple of surprises, actually...**

 **Aashi - Of course Thorin and Rejna will overcome the obstacles before them - I'm not _that_ cruel! Everybody will have a happy ending, they just have to work for it. And like I said above, Kee's going to thank me when his time comes. ;)**

* * *

 **54\. Duty**

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Thorin and Kíli headed to the weapons forge soon after the agreement was reached that his nephew would act as his guardian.

When they reached the facility they were greeted by the forgemaster, who offered a hearty congratulations to Thorin on being the princess' chosen. Thorin thanked the dwarf, then said Rejna was the reason they had come.

"Or more to the point, the bride price is why," he said. "His Majesty has asked for me to make him a sword unlike any he has ever seen, so I will have need of steel—"

"Nope!" said Darbur, holding up his hand. "I'll not hear of you using common steel to make a sword for my king."

Thorin tried not to frown. "Then what do you suggest I use instead? I cannot use iron, it is too heavy."

The forgemaster grinned. "Follow me, my Lord," he said conspiratorially, and turned toward a door on the far wall. Pulling a key ring from his belt, Darbur fiddled through them until he found the one he wanted, then put it to the large lock and pushed the door open. When he stepped aside, Thorin and Kíli could see the reason for the heavy iron of the lock.

"Mithril," Kíli said with a hint of awe. "Master Darbur, however did you come by it? Mithril can only be found in Moria."

Darbur chuckled. "'Tis where you're wrong, my boy. Recall that until four years ago, the north had long forgotten about this little kingdom of ours—including the fact that there's a mithril mine below this very mountain."

 _Is that it?_ Thorin wondered. _Is that the true reason Hagen wants control of Dwarrowvale—so he can control the mithril?_

 _Closer you come to the truth each day_ , said Mahal's voice in his mind.

It was all he could do not to scoff aloud. _How convenient for you to pop in and out of my head when it suits you. Why not just spell it out for me instead of forcing me to play this ridiculous game of clue hunting?_

The Maker's chuckle reverberated softly in his skull. _Come now, Thorin. We both know how much you enjoy riddles_.

Thorin growled silently. Mahal laughed again, then said, _In all seriousness, my son, the simple truth is that there are some things you must discover for yourself. However will you learn if I just 'spell it out' for you?_

"Uncle?"

Blinking, Thorin returned his attention to the dwarves before him. Both Kíli and Darbur stared with one eyebrow raised. "Forgive me, my mind did wander."

Darbur laughed. "If Princess Rejna were my One, Lord Thorin, I should expect my mind to wander as well. She is one of the comeliest dams I have ever beheld. Now, about His Majesty's sword—do you wish to use the mithril?"

Nodding, Thorin replied, "I would indeed, though I do not know if I have enough to pay for it on my person. I was expecting to purchase steel."

"What you have will be good enough."

Thorin looked to Kíli, whose countenance showed the same amount of surprise he felt himself. "Master Darbur, are you certain? The amount I will need is easily worth three or four times the amount for the same length of steel."

"Consider the discount an early wedding present," Darbur said. "Sir, I may not know you well, but that Mahal—in his infinite wisdom—chose you for Princess Rejna tells me you are worth the loss of coin. Besides, it is a discount. You're not getting it for free—I'm not that sentimental!"

Thorin laughed and thanked the forgemaster and shook his hand heartily, then handed over the money. Darbur handed him a length of the silvery metal; he also purchased a thin rod of iron to mix with the mithril, as alone the latter was too malleable—as an alloy it would be unbreakable, stronger than any sword of plain steel.

Darbur then directed them to an empty workstation—his shop was one where a dwarf without his own forge (some of the wealthier dwarves in the kingdom could afford a private forge) could purchase metal and pay a small fee to use one of the numerous fire pits and anvils to work on a personal project. A discount was offered if a patron had his or her own tools.

After getting the fire started, Thorin set the metal pieces into the cast iron pot. Kíli steadily pumped the bellow to fan the flames.

"Any idea what you're going to make this sword look like, Uncle?" the younger dwarrow asked.

Thorin reached into an inner pocket of his vest and pulled out a piece of parchment. He unfolded it and showed it to his nephew, whose eyes widened at the item drawn on it.

"Orcrist? You're going to make a copy of Orcrist for King Ragin?"

A slight frown marred his brow. "Do you think he will not like it?"

"Oh no, I'm sure he will," Kíli assured him. "I just figured with how much you came to like that Elvish blade, you might make one like it for yourself someday since you left the original behind in Erebor."

Thorin tilted his head as he thought about that. "Aye, I did like that sword. Perhaps I shall make another for myself someday, but this one is for the king."

Soon the molten metal was ready and they were pouring it into a plain mold. From this, he would use a hammer and anvil to pound it into the shape he desired: straight on one side and curved on the other.

At one point Kíli asked him, "Rejna's bodyguard is married, isn't he?"

"You know he is. Why do you ask?"

"Well, a part of me still wonders why you didn't want Dwalin or even Fíli to be your guardian. I'm the youngest, the most reckless. I prefer a bow to a blade—the latter of which Fíli carries with him in abundance—and Dwalin of the three of us is the most qualified," pointed out the younger dwarrow. "If Árni can manage a wife, and now a son, as the princess' bodyguard, why not select Dwalin to do the same for you?"

Thorin sighed as he pulled the red-hot rod from the fire, ready to begin the first strikes. He picked up the hammer and strategically placed several blows, wondering how he could put his thoughts into words to make Kíli understand.

He'd put the metal into a bucket of water to cool before he replied. "In my old life, I probably would not have hesitated to choose Dwalin, for as you say he is the more qualified," he began. Thorin looked Kíli in the eye as he added, "But this is not my old life. I am not the dwarf I once was, _Irakdashat_."

His nephew studied him for a moment before saying, "I have noticed a difference in you. You seem more… tolerant, I suppose. More compassionate—not that you weren't caring before, of course, it's just…"

Kíli shrugged. "I guess what I'm saying is that you're not near as cynical as you used to be. You're less jaded. You've even made friends with an elf!"

Thorin snorted. "Don't remind me," he quipped, though his words were in jest. The truth was he _did_ like Glorfindel. The ancient elf was vastly more tolerable than any other of his acquaintance—he was certainly less pretentious than that forest pixie Thranduil had been.

"As I said earlier," he went on, "Dwalin and Fíli now have a duty to their females. And while it is the same duty Árni has to Sindri and now Alfir, I simply cannot ask either of them to make one more sacrifice for my sake—they have each of them given up enough in my name."

After putting the blade metal back in the fire to heat again, he lifted his eyes to Kíli's. "You have also sacrificed much, my sister-son. And I am truly sorry that this new life has brought you more heartache than joy. I vow to you that I will stand by my word—when at last Mahal gives to you the gift of your One, the duty of looking after me will no longer be your burden. Perhaps by then, may the moment not be too far from now, I will trust one of Dwarrowvale's soldiers as much as I trust my blood kin."

Kíli nodded solemnly, then turned his attention to pumping the bellow. After a minute or so of silence, he said, "You're doing it again, you know."

"Doing what again?"

His nephew looked up at him. "Making decisions for others, decisions they should be allowed to make for themselves. As much as you have changed, Uncle, some things will always remain the same."

Thorin was about to argue his point again when he took note of the gleam in Kíli's eye. "We can none of us afford to change completely, as then we are not ourselves anymore but someone else entirely. I'll not allow myself—or you or Fíli—to lose the essence of who we are."

Kíli smiled. "I wouldn't wish that either," he said. "I'm happy to see us all grow and change for the better, certainly, but I'm equally pleased to recognize more than just your face. If you didn't make a decision for us once in a while, I'd wonder if something was wrong with you. With everything else I've had to give up, I don't want to lose the last part of myself I have—nor do I wish to lose the uncle I've always loved and admired."

Thorin felt his chest swell with emotion as he and Kíli regarded one another. On silent accord the conversation ended there and they concentrated on their work. Thorin had already carved the piece of tusk into shape over the days it had taken the hunters to return from Harondor; he only needed the blade, the guard, and the pommel. He recalled that Orcrist had had jewels set into the latter, and he'd already selected from what remained of his share of the troll hoard the stones he would set in the shape of the Blacklock sigil.

As quickly as he was getting the blade shaped to his liking, he thought at one point, there was a slim chance he would get it done today, though that would require missing lunch and working late into the evening. Even as badly as she wanted it done so they could move forward with the engagement, Thorin knew Rejna would not be pleased if he neglected himself or her in the process. In truth, he would love to have it done today as well, but he knew that perfection required patience, and perfect is what this sword had to be.

 _Tomorrow then_ , he mused as he pounded the mithril alloy between hammer and anvil for the third or fourth time.

They broke for lunch around noon and headed for the hobbit hole to join Dwalin, Larkspur, and Fíli. Dwalin reported as Larkspur was fetching glasses for their ale that he'd seen the spot Thorin had chosen for the getaway cottage and deemed it perfect; he'd also contacted the same masons and woodworkers he had hired to help build his own house. They were thankful for the work and eager to begin, especially once they had heard this project was for the princess.

"The king's sword is coming along as well," Thorin said. "Had I no obligations I would have kept working on it and possibly finished it today. But I am to meet with Rejna to take a tour of the mountain this afternoon."

"Part of that parading yourself nonsense?" Fíli asked with a snort.

Thorin echoed the snort, then said, "Aye, though it is also sensible that I do so. As Prince of Dwarrowvale, it will be my duty to oversee security within the capital. I must get to know the people I am to rule."

"Sounds familiar," Dwalin quipped.

With a laugh, Thorin said then, "Yes, it does seem like I've been through all this before."

Once lunch was over, Thorin and Kíli reported immediately to the palace. They were led by one of the guards to a meeting room in which they found the king and Rejna going over parchments. His princess looked up at him with a wide smile, her gaze curious as she took in the dwarf beside him.

"Master Kíli, it is a great pleasure to see you again. Might I introduce to you my father, His Majesty King Ragin, son of Dargin."

Kíli lifted a hand over his heart. "Kíli, son of Síli, here to serve you, My Lord," he said, then bowed.

"I bid thee welcome, Master Kíli. I have heard from my daughter that you are kin to her One?" said Ragin.

"Aye, my Lord, Thorin is my uncle. I accompany him today and will stand at his side for the foreseeable future, for he has chosen me to serve as his guardian," Kíli replied.

Father and daughter looked to each other; Thorin was certain he saw Rejna's shoulders relax a fraction at the news.

"You have my deepest thanks for accepting the duty, Master Kíli," she said. "I only wish it weren't necessary."

"As do we all, my Lady," Thorin put in, then he and Kíli approached the table at last. "I see that you are quite busy. Do you desire we put off the tour?"

"Nay, do no such thing on my account. Rejna was merely helping me with the city's ledgers. Plenty of money to spend on the wedding, rest assured," Ragin said with a laugh.

Thorin chuckled. "I had no concerns at all, though I would have you know that two of our kinsmen are traveling south with the caravan and they bring with them a sum from our family coffers in Erebor. I will pay any funds required of me upon their arrival."

Ragin waved off his words. "We can discuss that another time," he said, then looked to his daughter. "You should go, Rejna. It is time the people got a good look at the two of you together. It is time they got to know he who will one day be their king."

"Should we not also tour the rest of the kingdom then?" Thorin asked.

"Certainly, _Amrâlumê_ , but we cannot do that all in one afternoon," Rejna said with a laugh as she stood.

Taking the back entrance into the mountain, Rejna held onto Thorin's arm while Dag and Kíli trailed behind. They visited shops that produced everything from jewelry to clothing—including Grehkin's Wood Furnishings, where the proprietor assured Thorin that Fíli still had a job waiting for him when things were settled with Melindë. They departed after thanking him for his understanding and Rejna had made the older dwarf blush by placing a kiss on his cheek.

The four also took time to visit the capital's public library and the school, where the younger children were delighted by a visit from their princess, before heading to the army training facilities. At the latter, Kíli was indeed taken off to be fitted for armor while Rejna led Thorin to the sparring arena to watch "Dwarrowvale's bravest in action".

"I have already seen Dwarrowvale's bravest in action," he quipped as they stepped up to the railing to look down into the pitch below.

"My love, you flatter me," the princess replied as she eagerly watched the two combatants stepping out onto the dirt, one bearing a vicious war axe and the other two short swords.

They watched the two fairly evenly matched dwarves for several minutes before Rejna bumped his shoulder and said, "You know, I'm suddenly reminded that someone challenged me to spar with him."

Thorin looked down to find her smiling up at him. "Do you desire we have a go at each other now?" he asked, gesturing toward the pitch below.

She laughed. "No, not right this moment—we've more of the mountain to see and I know you are as eager as I to return to making Father's sword. But I have just had an idea as to the perfect moment for our match."

"Oh?" he asked, his brows rising. "Pray tell, Princess."

Rejna stood on her toes and whispered her idea in his ear. Thorin found himself grinning widely. "Oh, that will certainly be a surprise indeed, _Amrâlimê_. A fine idea—I like it."

Bidding farewell to the dwarves who stood near them, they headed to the armory in search of Kíli. He met them as they were walking down the corridor toward the facility, now bearing the same chain mail and polished steel as any soldier of the army.

"You know, my Lady, I move faster without all this," he grumbled lightly.

"Aye, but you look quite handsome, my soon-to-be nephew, and you are obeying the command of your princess," Rejna replied with a smile.

Kíli's eyes widened. "Mahal's balls, why did I not think of that? You'll be my aunt once you and Thorin marry—we're practically the same age, you and I!"

"There's twenty-seven years' difference, I remind you."

He scoffed and waved off her words. "A pittance. And you don't look a day over seventy."

Rejna grinned while Thorin shot him a mock scowl. "Watch yourself, nephew, that you do not take your compliments too far."

"Are you actually accusing me of flirting with my future aunt?" the younger dwarrow replied, his expression changing to one of mock horror. "That's disgusting, she's too old for me—not to mention we're practically related!"

Apparently unable to contain himself any longer, Dag burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with his mirth. "You lot are unbelievable. Definitely family, the way you carry on."

The three of them laughed heartily, and then the group went on to finish the tour. Thorin did his best to remember the name of each person he met, though he knew it would require multiple meetings for his memory to hold them all. But he was glad for the opportunity to go out and start meeting the citizens of Dwarrowvale; though he despised the underlying purpose of their tour through the mountain, he knew it was good the people got to know him. That he showed them he would be generous with his time and attention, that he genuinely cared about their welfare. And if he was going to rule these people one day as their king, he knew needed to earn their admiration and respect long before he took the title.

It was mid-afternoon before he and Kíli were able to return to Darbur's forges to work on Ragin's sword. By the dinnertime, he'd almost gotten the shape perfected—tomorrow morning would be spent finishing the blade before he went to work on the guard and pommel. Darbur allowed them to store the blade, which he wrapped in a soft cloth, in the store room where the mithril pieces were kept for security's sake.

Kíli once again escorted him to the palace when they left, where he dined with Ragin and Rejna and discussed their tour and how well it had seemed to go. Because he was family as well as Thorin's guardian, Kíli was invited to join them. Thorin gave the king the news that he believed the asked for bride price would be completed the following day, and that the day after he aimed to join his cousin in working on another project he'd agreed to do. Ragin grinned and winked conspiratorially, causing Rejna to raise a questioning eyebrow at them. When at one point she excused herself and left the room, the males quickly discussed the project in question, with Thorin reporting what Dwalin had told him at lunch and then asking if he might convert one of the multiple dining rooms into her honor room within the castle.

The king agreed immediately when he explained what he intended it to be—a "Queen's Court"—and said that once the getaway cottage was well underway, he would get started on it and complete the room himself.

When Rejna returned to the dining room, she reminded him that he needed to select his manservant soon. Thorin agreed to meet with a few of the stewards working in the palace after lunch the next day.

After spending more than an hour after the meal talking and smoking and drinking, he and Kíli departed the palace for their own apartment. Thafar and Bahûna greeted them enthusiastically and the two spent another hour playing with their lupine friends before taking them for a walk to do their business outside and then heading for bed.

 **-...-**

The next day dawned and began much the same as the one before, including a visit from Dwalin as breakfast was ending. He gave another progress report on what he and the work crew had accomplished with the getaway cottage, saying that the ground had been dug out—the sod set aside for later use—and the foundation started. Thorin told him he'd try to stop by for a bit following his meetings with the stewards, but that most of the day would be spent completing the sword.

Later, as he was finishing the shaping of the king's blade, Kíli asked if he planned to etch anything onto the sword, as Orcrist had had Elvish scored on the guard and blade. Thorin gave the matter some thought and then set to work on it, carving with precision Khuzdul runes on both sides of the blade before polishing it to a mirror shine.

They reported to lunch at the hobbit hole of their kin and then made their way to the palace after, where Rejna and three males she'd said were interested in the position of "manservant to the prince" were waiting in one of the meeting rooms. Thorin posed numerous questions of each, feeling out their loyalty to the crown with subtle but pointed questions. After about ninety minutes of discussion, he chose a fellow named Leof for the job. The younger male was a half-blood dwarf about a head taller than he who was the same age as Kíli. His mother was of Rohirrim origin and quite naturally, his family bred horses and ponies. Thorin and Kíli were surprised to learn that the boy's parents were in fact the owners of the stable in the Valley where they'd housed their own mounts upon arrival in Dwarrowvale.

"If it would be to your liking, my Lord, I can begin my duties tomorrow," Leof said after thanking him profusely for the job, which would not only include increased duties but an increase in pay.

"I do not think it will be necessary, as I am not yet your prince," Thorin replied.

"But sir, would it not be wise for me to begin learning your likes and dislikes now? To learn your current routine so that when it changes with your marriage to Her Highness, the transition is that much smoother?"

"He does have a point, my love," Rejna said softly.

"Indeed, Princess," he agreed, then said Leof could start the next day if he did not mind getting up at around five bells in order to be at the apartment by six, when he typically rose for the day. His new manservant smiled and replied that it would not be a problem, as he already rose that early in order to complete what duties he had in the palace.

With the matter of his steward settled, Thorin and Kíli returned to the forge, foregoing a trip into the woods where he had chosen to have the getaway cottage built in order to finish Ragin's sword. It was late in the evening, well past Darbur's closing time and long after dinner when Thorin declared it done.

"It is magnificent, my Lord," Darbur said when he showed it to him.

"Agreed, Uncle," added Kíli. "Definitely your finest work."

Thorin nodded, then said to the shop owner, "My deepest thanks for allowing us to stay after closing to finish our work, Master Darbur."

"Think nothing of it, sir—'tis for my king, so a small sacrifice of my time," Darbur replied. "Besides, it enabled me to get some work done on my accounts I'd been putting off. Now that I'm all caught up on the bookkeeping, I can work on a little something of my own."

Thorin grinned. "Then I am happy to have been of service to you in return."

The three then walked out of the shop, with Thorin and Kíli saying farewell to Darbur as he locked the door. They spoke of being eager to get to the palace that the sword could be presented to the king as they walked toward the east entrance of the mountain, with Kíli saying he could not wait for Ragin's reaction to the inscription.

They were through the entrance and about halfway along the courtyard wall when out of the shadows stepped four figures. Each was brandishing a weapon.

Kíli stepped forward, his hand on his sword. "Whatever you are about to do, friends, I suggest you reconsider."

"What we're 'bout to do, laddie, is earn us some serious coin," said the largest of the four dwarves, before he spit on the ground and then charged him.

Thorin, having no weapon on him other than the sword he'd made for the king, quickly threw off the cloth he'd wrapped it in and joined his nephew in fighting. He noted that while he and Kíli were doing their best to avoid seriously injuring their attackers, the four brutes were clearly not of the same mind. Apparently, the promise of gold was worth more than the dishonor of spilling a fellow dwarrow's blood.

An alarm rang from somewhere above them as the fight was engaged, and even though several guards came running toward them, they did not arrive soon enough. On seeing that one of the four attackers was a moment away from killing his nephew, Thorin threw a hard punch at the fellow before him, breaking his nose, then kicked him aside as he lifted the mithril sword and swung it in an arc that severed the carotid artery of the dwarf whose knife would have been plunged into Kíli's neck had he been seconds later in reacting. As it was, he was hit with blood spray instead of blade; the foolish dwarrow fell to the ground and began to choke as his life quickly drained away through the hole in his neck.

The fight did not last as long as it seemed to, and upon the arrival of the palace guards the three remaining attackers soon threw down their weapons and surrendered.


	55. Chapter 55

**Thanks, as always, go out to my wonderful reviewers. Robinbird79, readpink, K-Merritt09, Celebrisilweth, readergirl4985, ThatOtherWritergirl, dojoson41, Guest, and Rogue Lion - you all are so awesome to leave me a few words. Big thanks to new favoriters/followers 0x0UnderDog0x0 and LadyZee86, and of course thanks goes out to those of you reading along quiet-like.**

 **Guest - Thorin couldn't wait because he and Rejna are under pressure from the same git that hired those four idiots, not to mention they are both eager to be engaged and then married for their own reasons. ;) No, Ragin's not going to mind the sword was used, though the reason it needed to be is regrettable. As for my Muse, I've gotten the next chapter (56) about halfway done, but I'm still not ahead again. Perhaps on my next day off I can get her to work with me and get an extra chapter or so written.**

 **Rogue Lion - Truthfully, besides fight scenes not really being one of my strong points (I'm definitely more of a character writer), I personally don't think it is necessary to write out every little action or detail that takes place during one. I will, however, take your words into consideration and try to be a little more descriptive in the next. As for my "entirely new land", it is really not entirely new and is actually based on a very popular map of Middle-earth. I've actually described the location more than once, and if you'd care to have a look, visit the Facebook page Forgotten Tales of Middle-earth (yes, it is mine) and check out the photo album "People and Places of the Forgotten Tales". In that album I've collected pictures of canon and original characters, as well as places visited by same, and among the latter are the map of ME I use as well as a "close-up" of the section of the White Mountains occupied by Dwarrowvale.**

* * *

 **55\. A Necessary Evil**

* * *

"Are you injured, my Lord?" asked a familiar voice.

Thorin blinked, his eyes focusing on Hakon's face a moment later. "I am not," he replied.

Kíli came up to him and looked him over. "Are you sure?"

"The blood we both wear does not belong to either of us," Thorin said, then gestured to the dwarf on the ground, who was already dead. "It is his."

"What happened here?" asked another of the guards. His rank insignia was that of a captain.

"They attacked us," Kíli answered. "They were standing in the shadows there, and blocked our way as we were walking out from the mountain. That one there—" He pointed to one of the three now being held by a guard. "—said they were about to earn some serious coin after I warned them to reconsider. Then they came at us."

"That one is dead by my hand," Thorin added. "He was about to drive a knife into my guardian's back. I had no choice."

"You ignorant fools!" shouted Hakon. "Why would you attack your fellow dwarrow? Do you not know who this is?"

The latter he said as he gestured toward Thorin. "You have threatened the soon-to-be Crown Prince of Dwarrowvale!" Hakon went on. "He is our princess' One!"

"I know who he is," the ringleader said with a sneer. "And I don't sodding care."

"Do you care that your friend is dead?" Thorin demanded. "This dwarf would still be alive had you headed the warning you were given. Had you succeeded in your task, you'd have been kinslayers—is that shame worth whatever amount of gold you were promised?"

The dwarf spat at his feet. "We might have failed, _my Lord_ , but there is still shame to be had—'tis _you_ that became a kinslayer this night. Do you think the people will love you now? I highly doubt any dwarf in their right mind will accept a kinslayer as king."

Before anyone had time enough to stop him, Kíli stepped forward and punched the sneering dwarf. "Captain, get this filth to the dungeons."

"With pleasure," the guard captain replied, directing his fellow guardsmen to guide the prisoners away. Hakon elected to stay with the body of the slain dwarf until a litter could be brought to carry him to the Hall of Medicine.

Thorin looked forlornly at the sword in his hand. "I do not think this blade was ever meant to see battle, let alone draw blood," he said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. "Certainly not dwarf blood."

"Thorin," Kíli said. "Uncle!"

He looked over at his nephew. "You saved my life, Uncle," Kíli said. "You said yourself he was about to stab me in the back."

"There is no shame, my Lord, in defending your kin," Hakon spoke up. "It was your duty to defend your blood as it is his to protect you."

Relaxing just a fraction, the pain of having taken the life of a dwarf only marginally lessened by the necessity of doing so, Thorin nodded. "Thank you for that, my Lord," he said.

"No need to call me by a title that is not yet mine, sir," the younger dwarf countered.

Drawing a breath, Thorin inclined his head again, then turned to pick up the cloth that the king's sword had been wrapped in. He wiped the blade as best he could, then turned to Kíli.

"Come, let us get inside. No doubt the alarm was heard within the palace and Rejna is frantic. I am _not_ looking forward to this."

When they reached the front gate, two of the guards peeled away and walked ahead of them up the steps. Inside the foyer, they encountered a handful more guards, in the midst of which stood Rejna, issuing orders in a no-nonsense tone about investigating the disturbance. The soldiers saw them before she did, and it was their utter silence that caused her to turn her head.

Thorin watched her react as though in slow motion. Her eyes widened and she gasped, the helmet under her arm clattering loudly to the polished marble floor. The sound of his name, shouted in fear, reverberated around the hall, wafting up into the cathedral ceiling of the entryway as her boots thundered an echo in her mad dash to reach him.

He grabbed her shoulders before she could throw herself at him. "The blood is not mine."

Tears spilled from Rejna's eyes and her breaths were shallow as she looked him over. "What…? How…? Are you sure you're not hurt? Are you _sure_?!"

Thorin pressed his lips to hers, then lifted his hands to cup her face and bring their brows together. "The blood is not mine," he repeated. "I beg you, _Amrâlimê_ , do not weep. I am unharmed."

They stood that way for several moments before Dag ventured to ask, "What happened, my Lord?"

"Where is the king?" Kíli countered.

Dag looked to him. "Sequestered in his chambers under guard, Master Kíli. It is standard protocol to secure His Majesty—"

"And why are you not with him?" Thorin said to Rejna. "What business have you running headlong into potential danger?"

The panicked expression on her face shifted to one of annoyance. "I beg your pardon? I am a general, Thorin! It is my duty to see to the safety of my king, and I can hardly do that if I am locked away—"

He silenced her with another kiss, and wore a smile when he lifted his head. Relief flooded his veins that his little ploy had worked, for it had torn at his heart to see her looking so frightened.

"There is my mighty princess."

"That was a dirty trick, Thorin," Rejna snapped.

"You are no longer panicked, my dear. Which is what I wished for," Thorin said, then drew a deep breath. "Let us go to your father. I would speak in his presence about what has transpired that I do not have to repeat myself."

Rejna nodded and wordlessly turned to lead the way. Dag, Kíli, and the other soldiers surrounded the two off them immediately.

When they reached Ragin's chambers, Thorin took note of the extra guards outside his doors. They were admitted at once when the princess was sighted, and as Thorin and Kíli walked toward the king, Rejna stopped and spoke softly to one of the guards.

Dropping to one knee—an act he had not done since his grandfather had sat on the throne of Erebor—Thorin held out the sword he had made.

"With deepest regret, Your Majesty, I must inform you that this sword—forged for you with my own hands as the requested bride price—was this evening used not only to draw the blood of another dwarrow, but that it ended his life. I will accept whatever punishment you deep appropriate for this transgression."

Both Kíli and Rejna, who stood on either side of him, had shouted in protest when he spoke of punishment, but Ragin silenced them both with a sharp wave of his hand. Kíli, however, would not remain so.

"Thorin, be reasonable!" he cried. "It was him or me, remember? If anyone should be declaring himself subject to punishment, it is I—for failing to properly defend you. You should not have been put in the position to defend me instead."

Thorin looked up at him. " _Irakdashat_ , they had to know you were my guardian—they were fighting you three against one."

The king, who had been silent as stone from the moment they walked in, looked up to Kíli then. "You will tell me what happened."

Kíli nodded, and recounted the evening's events from the time they left Darbur's shop until the fight with the four dwarves started.

"And the fellow that died?" Ragin pressed. "How did that occur?"

Here Thorin took over, describing the moment as it replayed in his mind. "I should have made an attempt to cut him elsewhere," he added. "Perhaps I could have simply cut off his hand—"

The king lifted a hand and he fell silent. Then Ragin at last took the proffered sword and drew off the bloodstained cloth. His eyes widened in clear admiration for the craftsmanship of the weapon, a slight smile gracing his lips as he took in the red and yellow stones used to create the Blacklock sigil on the pommel. He then turned it so he could read the Khuzdul runes inscribed on the blade.

" _Naikhbibi fa binisli zai sullu_ ," Ragin murmured aloud. "The Blacklock clan motto. I was not aware you knew it."

"I learned it from your daughter, my Lord."

The king lowered the sword to his knees, his sharp gaze holding Thorin's for a full minute before he said, "Rise, my son. You have done no wrong. While the end result is regrettable, defending one's kin is not. You may have taken a life, but in doing so you saved one. Such is the nature of war."

As Thorin stood so did Ragin, the latter dwarf pacing away in order to give his sword a few hefty swings. Turning back to them he said, "It is terribly well balanced. And indeed, it is a weapon unlike any I have ever seen."

The king returned to them, and took in those standing before him with a meaningful gaze. "Make no mistake about it, we are at war. Hagen will likely deny his involvement, but I doubt there is any here who does not believe him to be behind this incident. His followers—where are they, anyway? The ones who surrendered?"

"I ordered the captain who responded and his men to take them to the dungeons, Your Majesty," Kíli replied. "Hakon remained with the body of the fallen dwarf until custodians from the Hall of Medicine could bring a litter to retrieve him."

Ragin nodded. "Well done. As I was saying, they are unlikely to name him their master, though I will certainly see to it they are thoroughly interrogated _nêhabkulul_. And you, my boy—your uncle is right. Do not fret you were derelict in your duty. I imagine you acted as well as able, given the circumstances."

Kíli was thanking him when a knock sounded at the door. Dag went to answer it and inside stepped Léof. Rejna smiled when she saw the young steward.

"Ah, there you are," said the princess. "Has your task been completed?"

Léof bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Highness. Two rooms with two hot baths await your One and his guardian. I am come to inform you of it. Fresh clothing is being retrieved as we speak by Telka."

"Excellent work. Will you show Lord Thorin and Master Kíli to their suites?"

A nod accompanied Léof's, "Of course, my Lady."

Thorin turned to Rejna. "What is this?"

She raised a hand to his cheek. "My love, I would have you where you are safe—in this palace, where no harm can befall you."

"She is right, _agnat'dashat_ ," said Ragin. "The palace is as a fortress. Though I daresay nothing like what happened tonight will be tried again soon."

"If that is so, then we should as likely retire to our own home," Thorin told him.

"Thorin, this _is_ your home, or soon enough will be. You might as well get used to living here," Rejna told him in a tone that said she would take no further argument from him. "You might also consider what a spectacle you make with your attire in its present condition. Do you not think blood will cause alarm amongst the people? Or questions to be asked?"

Thorin snorted. "An alarm was raised—they are bound to be asking questions soon enough based on that alone."

"And we shall tell them the truth: That you were assaulted in an unprovoked attack and are now to reside in quarters of your own here in the palace."

He frowned. "Reside? One night I might give consent to that your worry is eased, but to take up residence before we are married is both unnecessary and a breach of custom."

"Hang the sodding customs!" Rejna shouted. "You are safer here than anywhere else in this mountain—in any mountain in this kingdom, and there are several! Either you move your residence to the palace or I will have guards posted at your door—will that be more acceptable to you?"

Thorin tried not to let his frown become a scowl. "Very well. As it would appear I have no choice in the matter, I shall retire to my rooms. Good evening, Princess. Your Majesty."

With that, Thorin turned on his heel and strode forcefully to the door. Kíli and Léof hurried to join him, the steward rushing to open the door and take the lead. He showed them to what was clearly the wing of the palace reserved for important guests, if their rooms—suites, really—were any indication. Kíli was, at Thorin's insistence, directed to his first; his nephew would enter only after being assured that his uncle was right next door.

In his own suite, Thorin gazed around the richly appointed sitting room, nodding when Léof indicated which of the doors on either side of the fireplace led to the bathroom and a study. On the other side of the room was a set of double doors that stood open, showing a wide bed.

"Your bath is already drawn, my Lord, though if you should require me to drain and refill it—"

Thorin silenced his steward with a shake of his head. "That will not be necessary, I am sure the water has not much cooled," he said, and turned toward the bathroom.

In the middle of the floor of the wide space was a claw-footed iron tub filled with still-steaming water. As he stepped closer, he detected the scents of lavender and kava, and took note of a small stand with bottles of what were certainly bath oils. Heedless of the presence of Léof behind him, he began to remove his clothes, starting with his blood-spattered vest and tunic. When he had immersed himself in the water, leaning his head onto the rim, the steward wordlessly retrieved his clothes and boots and departed.

It was an effort to keep his annoyance at bay and concentrate only on the heat of the water working the tiredness out of his limbs. He did not want to think about his anger at Hagen, at the fools he'd hired to kill him, or at his One for treating him like a child.

How _dare_ she order him about as though she had the right?! Suggestions and counsel were welcome, but to issue a command and expect him to obey as though he were one of her soldiers? It rankled, to say the least. Who did she think she was?

 _The Crown Princess of Dwarrowvale—though more importantly, she is your One. She fears for your life, my son, and with good reason_.

 _Not now_ , Thorin countered angrily. _Of all times for you to butt_ out _of my affairs, this would be one of them_.

He instantly regretted his insolent tone. Mahal had argued for his life to be returned to him. He came to him with counsel, even if at times it was frustratingly vague. How could he treat the Maker with such disrespect?

 _Forgive me, my Lord. I do not mean to be such a_ lalkhul _ingrate_.

Mahal's voice when he spoke again held a tinge of amusement. _According to my own One, you are correct. Yavanna says there are some matters in which I should not interfere—your relationship with Rejna being one of them. But if I may, my son, do try to understand where she is coming from. From her perspective, she could have lost you tonight. It is not the first time an attempt has been made on your life and it is not likely to be the last. I doubt Rejna desires to emasculate you—she only wishes to see you safe from harm_.

Thorin drew and released a ragged breath, and then suddenly found himself laughing. _And here we thought leaving Erebor behind would alleviate the danger to myself and my nephews. How wrong we were_.

 _Who says that danger is not connected to that which you now face?_

His eyes, which he had closed, now snapped open. Were Hagen's machinations somehow connected to the Deceiver's hunt for them? But how could that be? Sauron knew nothing of their return—he couldn't possibly know.

Unless… Had they not been as careful in the north as he had thought? Had someone there let slip that he and his sister-sons had been resurrected?

A knock and then the opening of the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts. Thorin turned to look over his shoulder as Léof stepped in.

"Forgive the intrusion, my Lord, but in looking in on Master Kíli I was informed that neither of you had taken dinner this evening. Is there anything in particular you would like for me to have the kitchen send up?"

It was only then that he realized how hungry he was. "Meat, I don't care what kind so long as it isn't fowl. Bread and boiled potatoes, and a pie of some kind. And ale—I'm in the mood for a whole pitcher."

"As you wish, my Lord. I shall deliver your order straight away," Léof replied.

"Léof, what of clothing? You said some was being retrieved—the water is cooling and I'd like to get out."

"Her Highness' maid was sent to your apartment to retrieve attire for yourself and your guardian, sire. I will bring it in and leave it here by the door. The towels are in that wardrobe to your left."

Thorin nodded and turned back around. No doubt Fíli was now worried about them, what with the princess' maid coming to request clothing for him and Kíli. He groaned with the knowledge that he would have to recount the evening to his eldest nephew, also making him worry more when he had other things to be concerned with—like Melindë's return the day after tomorrow. And then of course there would be Dwalin to have to deal with when wind of it got to him.

This becoming a prince again business was quickly morphing into a king-sized nightmare.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Naikhbibi fa binisli zai sullu_. – Forge together or not at all.

 _nêhabkulul_ – nevertheless

 _lalkhul_ – foolish


	56. Chapter 56

**I adore you, my wonderful reviewers. Seeing a new review absolutely makes my day - so thanks go out to ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, readpink, ValarenOfGondor, Celebrisilweth, Guest 1, Guest 2, Rogue Lion, and Aashi for your reviews of chapter 55.**

 **Guest 1 - Yes, our Hakon may be young, but he's a bright fellow. I am actually ahead again - 57 and 58 are completed already, and 59 is started. So my Muse has been cooperative again. And Rejna was obviously not thinking clearly when she said that, otherwise she'd surely have considered that Thorin living in the palace before they married might give Hagen something to use against them. That moment with the king was great, as was Thorin and Mahal's chat and his worrying over having to tell his kin what happened.**

 **Guest 2 - It is fun, at times, to write a character freaking out, though Rejna wasn't doing so entirely for nothing. After all, Thorin's life had been endangered for the second time, and she was fed up! Fíli's reaction is in this chapter, Dwalin's in the next. Mel comes back next chapter too!**

 **Rogue Lion - So happy you were pleased with this chapter! I do like to leave little hints here and there about things that are coming.**

 **Aashi - Thanks for the encouragement. Melindë will be back next chapter!**

* * *

 **56\. Partnership**

* * *

Thorin washed himself quickly in the cooling bathwater, and then pulled the plug before he got out and dressed.

He spent the next several minutes familiarizing himself with what was likely to be his home until the wedding. Moving out of the apartment he shared with his nephews didn't bother him much—he'd hardly grown attached to the place in the near two months of his residence—it was that he had been _ordered_ to.

Irritation at Rejna returned. Her father, at least, had couched his words as a recommendation, not a command as the princess had done. Of course, Thorin was somewhat surprised he had agreed, given they were not yet married— _razâd_ , they weren't even engaged yet! But something told him Ragin had doted on Rejna since infancy, giving her whatever she desired in a misguided effort to make up for the loss of her mother, who had died birthing her.

Wait, speaking of engagement… What had Leof done with his clothes? Thorin hurried out of the bedroom and it was then he noticed a fire burning in the fireplace.

The tunic and vest were in the center of the fire, quickly turning to ash.

Dread washed through him, knowing that the betrothal bead had been in the inside pocket of his vest. He prayed that Leof was a thorough steward and had cleared the pockets before burning the soiled items.

A knock sounded at the door, then suddenly it burst open and Bahûna ran and jumped at him. He caught her and laughed as she licked at his face, noting over her shoulder that Fíli, Kíli, and Thafar were entering behind Leof, who pushed a loaded serving cart.

"Shall I set the table for you, my Lord?" the steward asked.

"Please," he said, ruffling the ears of his beloved pet before he set her on the ground—she really was getting too big already for jumping up to be held.

Leof moved to the table that was against the wall opposite the door as Thorin looked to his eldest nephew. "I take it your brother has filled you in?"

Fíli nodded. "Aye. When the maid came with a guard and asked for clothes, I had to come myself to see how you were—not that I doubted for a moment that you were just fine."

"I am glad to see you, _Irakdashat_ ," Thorin said. "Have you eaten?"

"I'm good, thanks. I'll have some of that ale, though," Fíli replied.

Kíli snorted. "As if you'd say no to ale."

Fíli looked at him and grinned. "You're absolutely right, I would not."

The three of them laughed, then moved toward the table that was now set with two place settings, a large pitcher of ale, a small roast with potatoes and carrots, a small basket of rolls, and what looked like a berry pie. Beside one plate was a carved ivory bead with four small sapphires.

Thorin sighed with relief and looked to Leof. "Thank you," he said. "I admit I feared it might have burned with my shirt."

Leof chuckled. "If you have not had a steward before, my Lord, rest assured that no manservant or maid worth their weight in mithril would dare burn or launder clothing without first checking the pockets. If I may be so bold as to ask, is that for our fair princess?"

Thorin sat and picked up the bead, the stones sparkling in the light of the flames from the fire and a few nearby candles. "Aye. I intend it to be her betrothal bead. Perhaps tomorrow I shall be allowed to give it to her."

"You might have done tonight, what with the sword being completed and all," Kíli observed. "But we left so abruptly…"

He fell silent when Thorin gave him a sour look. Setting the bead aside, he concentrated on his meal, knowing that as soon as Leof was gone, Fíli would begin asking questions.

He was not wrong. The moment the door to his suite closed, Leof having announced he would return in an hour for the dishes, the blond dwarf sat forward and asked, "So what the devil are we going to do about Hagen?"

Thorin snorted. "Nothing," he said, the word difficult to push past his lips. "Unless one of his lackeys gives him up, there is nothing we _can_ do. We've nothing but our suspicion that he is responsible to go on."

Fíli threw up his hands. "Well this is bollocks!" he shouted, eliciting yelps from the two wolves. "We know perfectly well he's tried twice now to kill you, or have you killed. What's to stop him from trying again?"

Bahûna barked twice, then growled softly before returning her attention to her brother.

"That reminds me," Fíli said, eyeing the wolves with a frown. "Bahûna was behaving strangely this evening. She kept whining and looking toward the apartment door—I thought she was just anticipating your return. Then suddenly she started barking. That of course set Thafar off, but after a few minutes of my trying and failing to shut them up, she suddenly stopped. But she continued to stare at the door and whine every so often, until that maid showed up with a guard behind her."

"That would be Telka, Rejna's handmaiden," Thorin said. "Leof said she was the one sent for our clothes."

"Well, naturally the fact that she was asking for fresh clothes for the two of you meant there was no way I was going to stay home," Fíli went on. "So I returned with them and brought the wolves, because I knew there was no way I'd be able to leave them behind."

"The guards must have been informed as to where we are," Kíli said then. "Fee was brought straight to me and there's a fellow standing outside your door even now. When we asked, he said he was the night guard. He'll be there until morning, when I shall relieve him."

"I will have to take a moment to speak with him," Thorin mused. "I would know who it is I must trust to guard me while I sleep. Not that anyone is likely to get at me here—according to the princess and her father, the palace is a fortress."

The last he said with a sarcastic tone, and he knew his nephews were aware he was not pleased with his current circumstances by the looks they threw each other. He noted Fíli looking around with mild admiration at their surroundings.

"Nice digs," he said.

"You are welcome to them," Thorin told him. "But be prepared to have a female order you about."

Fíli grinned. "Melindë is welcome to order me about as much as she likes. She might have seemed timid to you lot, but you didn't see her when she went off on that Etten arse. My lady may be the ice to my fire, but she's also got her own kind of fire, even if she doesn't realize it yet. And she _is_ the captain of a fishing boat."

"Uncle, staying here won't be so bad," Kíli said. "We were going to be moving in here anyway, weren't we?"

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Kíli, but that is not the point. I am bothered by the manner in which the edict was delivered. It was either start living here now or have guards posted at our door."

"Well then, why not do that? I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad to have guards at our door at night," Fíli observed.

He thought about that a moment, turning the thought over in his mind. Maybe that would be better—at least it would relieve the tension that now stood between him and Rejna. Thorin decided he would give it further consideration, and hoped he would come to a decision by morning.

Still… "What bothers me most is I'm not being given a bloody choice in the matter!" he said, throwing his napkin forcefully across the table; it fell into Fíli's lap and his nephew put it back on the table without a word.

"I don't want bodyguards walking beside me, don't want them standing at my door—day or night. This new life was supposed to be worry free, and look at it now! I'm being ordered about by a bloody dam who's not even my wife. Yet."

Fíli and Kíli suddenly burst out laughing. "Who… who does that… remind you of… Uncle?" the youngest of his nephews managed.

Thorin stared at him for a moment, and then felt laughter begin to roll up in his chest. He was laughing heartily in seconds and holding his side within a minute.

"Oh my sister-sons… How I miss your mother," he said as he tried to catch his breath.

"You don't… have to miss her much… with Rejna running around," Fíli stuttered as he fought to settle his own breathing.

"Indeed not," Thorin agreed. "And there is little doubt in my mind that your mother would agree with her, citing concern for my safety and all that rubbish."

Kíli drew a breath and smiled. "I think _Amad_ would have liked Rejna very much," he said. "And Larkspur too. They are all so alike in so many ways."

"Do you think… Do you think she would approve of Melindë?" Fíli asked hesitantly. "Would Mother have been all right with the fact my One is not a dam?"

"Fíli," Thorin said, drawing his nephew's gaze. "Your mother would love her. Remember that she was a firm believer in that Mahal does not make mistakes; as such, she would have accepted his choice for you and welcomed Melindë with open arms."

"No doubt she'd sit that girl at the table and start piling food in front of her, trying to plump her up," Kíli mused. "Nothin' but skin and bones, she'd call her."

"I love Melindë just the way she is," Fíli said firmly. Then a little smile appeared and he added, "Though I admit I'd not mind if her arse were a little rounder."

 **-...-**

It was morning, and Thorin found himself no closer to making a decision on his living situation than the night before. Prudence and custom told him he should return to his apartment and accept that there would be guards standing in the hall at night. But he had no wish to set the neighbors ill at ease. Perhaps he could have them inside, where they'd at least have access to the bathroom.

He also did not wish to further upset Rejna, who he believed wanted him nearer. And there was certainly a part of him that was excited to be so close to his One, to be able to share breakfast with her as well as dinner. To simply see her more often.

He had just pulled his trousers on when the door to his rooms opened. Thorin assumed Leof had come to bring breakfast or something of that nature, but it was Rejna's voice that called out to him.

"Thorin? My love, where are you?"

She did not wait for him to answer, as in the next moment she was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, her eyes wide and her mouth agape at his shirtless state.

Thorin could not help himself—for a brief moment, he allowed a little satisfaction to course through him at her open appreciation of his physique. Then sense regained its hold and he remembered where they were. He was certain they were alone in the quarters, and that was a very, very dangerous situation to be in.

"Rejna, what are you doing here?" he asked, and suddenly his irritation from the night before came roaring back with a vengeance—she'd entered his chambers not only alone but unannounced.

Thorin strode across the bedroom and took her by the arm, turning her and leading her into the sitting room.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Escorting you out," he replied, and out of the corner of his eye he noted shock on her face.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I have a right to be here!" Rejna exclaimed.

Thorin paused. "In a manner of speaking, yes—you are my One and it is perfectly natural that we should spend time together. However, you have failed to take into account that I am an unwilling guest in your home. Your orders forced my presence here, and you have entered unannounced and without a chaperone."

Her expression shifted to a scowl. "I can come and go wherever I please in my own home."

"Is that the kind of princess you are? Throwing your royalty about whenever it suits you in blatant disregard of a dwarrow's privacy? If so, I am not certain I wish to marry a dam who shows no respect for her fellow dwarves, her mate least of all."

Thorin then finished crossing to the door, which opened at that moment to admit Leof and Kíli, both of whom were surprised to see Rejna there.

The two bowed their heads, Leof adding, "Good morning, Your Highness."

Pushing her none too gently toward the door, Thorin said, "Princess Rejna was just leaving. I will see you at breakfast, my Lady."

With that, he shut the door between them and returned to his bedroom to finish dressing, leaving a stunned steward and nephew behind him.

 **-...-**

Rejna stormed through the palace with a dark scowl on her face. Anyone who crossed her path quickly cleared out of their angry princess' way, and Dag wisely walked behind her rather than beside. No one wished to bear the brunt of that particular storm.

She entered the dining room and slammed the door behind her, glad for a moment to be alone. She knew she needed to rein in her temper, but it was incredibly difficult. How could he—more than that, how _dare_ he? She was the Crown Princess! This castle was her home, she could enter any room she liked!

 _Would you walk into any other guest's room unannounced?_

Startled, Rejna whirled about, seeking the owner of the feminine voice. She saw no one.

 _What of your friends, the servants who work for you?_ came the voice again. _Would you enter their chambers without first being invited?_

Pausing in her stride around the room, Rejna felt the words sinking in. She _had_ just let herself in, hadn't she? _But he is my One_ , she thought. _Surely Thorin could not have cared that much_ —

A musical sort of sound like bells of silver rang in her mind. She spun around again, looking but seeing no one.

"All right, who's there? Be not a coward and show yourself to me!" she demanded.

 _Sit down, child_.

Stubbornly, Rejna fisted her hands on her hips. "I prefer to stand. And I am not a child."

 _You're certainly acting like one_ , said the voice. _Very well then—since you refuse to be sensible, I'll not be held responsible for what happens_.

Before she could react, Rejna felt her equilibrium dance. Dizziness swept over her and she closed her eyes against it. When she felt steady again she opened them, only to find herself not where she'd been just moments ago. Instead of the royal dining room, she was on the grand balcony outside the king's suites.

Standing at the balcony, dressed in a flowing white gown, was the tallest female she had ever set eyes on.

"Who are you? How did I get here? Where is my father?"

The sound of silver bells came again and she realized the tall female was laughing. Then she looked over her shoulder, and Rejna found herself awestruck by such ethereal beauty as stood before her.

"You sure are an impatient one," the female said. "But then I should have expected no less from one of my husband's children. Aulë's influence has made you all far too much like him."

Aulë? Her husband's children? What in Mahal's name was going on here? Rejna wondered.

And then suddenly she realized her mental blunder—Aulë _was_ Mahal's name. And if he was the husband of the female in front of her…

Rejna dropped to one knee. "My Lady Yavanna, bride of the Maker. Forgive my impertinence."

"Rise, child. I did not bring you here to worship at my feet," Yavanna said kindly.

Standing slowly, the confused dam replied. "Then why? And how?"

Yavanna gestured for her to join her at the balcony. Rejna moved to join her in stunned disbelief, and for a moment they stood in silence looking out over the courtyard. Beyond the castle walls, she could see the small forest that marked the boundary between land claimed by the capital and that which made up the Valley.

"You're not actually here on the balcony," Yavanna confessed. "You're still in the dining room, probably slumped against the wall—I did tell you to sit down. It is easier to enter your mind than it is to make myself appear before you."

"So this is an illusion? A dream?"

"That is correct."

Rejna tilted her head in thought. "That sort of explains the how. But not the why—why have you come to me, my Lady?"

Yavanna looked down at her. "Although I warned my husband he should not interfere in your relationship with Thorin, I felt not even I could just sit back and watch you bumble about and risk damaging the foundation of that relationship."

Frowning, Rejna fisted her hands on her hips. "And how have I done that?"

Yavanna chuckled. "My dear, surely you were not blind to the anger of your One when you ordered him to remain in the castle—in fact to live here under guard?"

Heat flushed her neck, coloring her cheeks as the dam looked resolutely out over the courtyard.

"Further, you let yourself into what are supposed to be his private chambers," the Valië went on. "You did not knock first or wait for an invitation to be issued, and when he called you to carpet for that, you threw your status as owner of the palace in his face."

A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Do you truly not see how deeply you have disrespected him?"

A maelstrom of emotions began to rage within her. Rejna fought to bring the anger, the hurt, the confusion, the fear—the shame—under control. She fought to keep the tears that stung her eyes in check but one escaped, rolling down her right cheek.

"I cannot lose him," she mumbled. "Thorin is my One—he is my everything."

Looking up, she said again, "I cannot lose him."

Yavanna smiled softly. "And you will not, I am certain. But a relationship such as yours must be navigated with no small amount of delicacy. Love can heal, my dear, but it can also hurt when wielded improperly."

The Valië sighed as she turned and faced the courtyard again. "Marriage—and the two of you are married at heart though not yet by law—is not the same thing as any other relationship. It cannot be treated the same. It is a partnership, my child. As a general of the army you are a commander, but in your marriage you and Thorin are equals. This means that any decision one of you makes in regard to the other must be done _together_."

Yavanna turned to face her again, waiting until Rejna looked up at her before she spoke further. "You did not _ask_ Thorin to spend the night or move into the palace, you _told_ him to. You did not give him a choice, in essence treating him as no better than one of the foot soldiers under your command. You did not respect his feelings, Rejna, nor his privacy, or the fact that he is much more to you than a dwarf in the army."

"The fact that he is so much more is precisely why I want him here!" Rejna cried. "Our enemy has tried twice now to kill him. If he is in the palace under guard, then at least I _know_ he is safe!"

"I can sympathize, Princess, but you're still not quite grasping the lesson," Yavanna said. "You did not treat Thorin as an equal in your partnership, and frankly you've wounded his pride a bit. His sister may have often tried to tell him what to do, but she always respected that the choice was his. You didn't even do that much."

Reflecting back on her behavior, the sense of shame began to outweigh all other emotions. Rejna realized that she _hadn't_ respected Thorin, not their partnership or his personal boundaries. Not to mention the fact that even in their society, where females were cherished as the greatest of treasures because so few were born, the males still ruled the roost. Being told what to do by a female as though he were a child would sting a grown male's pride something fierce.

"Thorin is a king among dwarves," Yavanna was saying. "He is not used to taking orders when he was literally born to give them."

Tears fell again. "I have been such a fool," Rejna said softly. "However can I make up for this?"

Yavanna's smile was compassionate. "I think all you have to do, my dear, is to be more thoughtful. Like him, you're so used to being alone, to being in charge, that you're not quite sure how to handle the fact that you now have a partner, someone whose feelings must be taken into consideration when you make a decision. When it is something to do with that person, you must be doubly sensitive to how your choices might be received. You need to be more open to discussing any decision to be made and possibly altering it that the both of you are in agreement."

It was now the Valië's turn to tilt her head in thought. "How sad," she said. "At risk of causing further heartache, child, you've spent so much time surrounded by males I think perhaps it is your lack of a mother that leads you to think and act like they do."

"I actually had a mother, sort of," Rejna countered. "Father did hire a nursemaid to help rear me through childhood, to teach me all about being female, because Mahal knows how embarrassing _those_ conversations would have been!"

The two of them laughed together, and the dam began to realize how momentous this time with her Maker's wife was. She smiled up at her and said, "Thank you, my Lady. I've no doubt had Saia been here, I would have been given much the same lecture as you have just given me—and I do not argue that I did not deserve it, because I did. I cannot wait for her to return with the caravan so that I can seek her out for advice."

"And do not forget your friends, my dear," Yavanna added. "Those of your acquaintance who are already married can bestow upon you a great deal of wisdom on how to handle your mate in any situation. Just remember to respect your One and treat him as an equal and you will do just fine. I firmly believe that in time, you will learn to not be the general in all situations and Thorin will learn to take as much as he gives."

The Maker's bride then turned her head toward the palace, as though she saw someone. Rejna looked but no one was there.

Yavanna smiled. "Oh, but there is," she said, responding to her thought. "You are suddenly now surrounded by some very concerned males. I should return you to consciousness that their worry is eased."

"Do I need to sit down for the return?" Rejna asked, chagrin coloring her cheeks.

"You're already down—you fell because you refused to sit, remember?" Yavanna said with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile. "Speaking mind to mind is harmless and easy enough, as is inserting myself into a dream, but to initiate a dream in a conscious mind can be…upsetting. You may be dizzy again upon waking but it will pass."

"Thank you again, my Lady," Rejna said with a bow of her head. "I will not forget what you have told me."

Yavanna bent and kissed her brow. "Good fortune to you, my child."

Rejna closed her eyes as the Maker's bride moved away from her. The sensation of dizziness rolled her stomach again, making her head feel fuzzy, and then suddenly she felt a pair of arms around her. Her mind slowly came to the realization that she was being held in someone's lap, a pair of lips pressed to her brow.

"Wake up," Thorin whispered, a tone of fear in his voice. " _Amrâlimê_ , wake up."

Rejna's eyelids fluttered. She moved her head back slowly to find a very worried Thorin looking down at her. He was surrounded by her father, Kíli, Dag, Solveg, and Jormun. Thafar and Bahûna whined as they sat beside their masters.

Lifting a hand to cup his cheek, she said, "Forgive me."


	57. Chapter 57

**I have some of the best reviewers - I so love that y'all are enjoying this story so much! ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, readpink, dearreader, Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, dojoson41, Guest, Rogue Lion, ValarenOfGondor, and LoveMeSomeFili... Really, you folks are so wonderful for taking the time to tell me what you think. Thank you to Littlenori and Powerfulka for favoriting/following, and thanks to everyone who reads along quietly as well!**

 **dearreader - Yavanna did let that slip, but Rejna's not going to remember that little tidbit. At least, not yet.**

 **dojoson41 - Thanks for that. I think I'd read somewhere that it's not uncommon in some fantasy stories for there to be same-gender couples when there are few of the opposite gender to mate with. Me, as I said, I was just throwing in a dash of realism.**

 **Guest - If Yavanna should wish to speak with Rejna again, she'll remember that voice for sure! Most likely it would be as Mahal does with the guys, just a telepathy sort of thing. But if Rejna hears Yavanna say "Sit down" she'll definitely listen next time!**

 **Rogue Lion - Any "classic fandom" tropes you find in my stories are there because it's what I felt fit best for the story, not because it's classic or because everyone else is doing it. As a matter of fact, I tend to consciously shy away from what everyone else does because I like to be as original as possible. As for Rejna (not Rajin or Rajine), that little slip-up of Yavanna's is going to pass her by until the truth comes out and she realizes she was kind of warned.**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - Rejna will definitely be more considerate in the future, which is why the reveal about Thorin is going to be such a shock for her.**

 **And now for Dwalin putting his foot down and the return of Melindë - which should make Fíli a very happy dwarf. :)**

* * *

 **57\. First**

* * *

A frown marred her beloved's handsome face.

"For whatever you require forgiveness, it is yours," Thorin said. "I only ask that you never frighten me like this again."

Rejna scoffed lightly. "You should not dismiss my transgressions blindly," she told him. "And while I very much enjoy being held by you, I think I would like to be sitting up when we discuss my faults."

At that, a hesitant smile crossed his face and Thorin nodded. He helped her into a sitting position and then her father held out his hands. Rejna took them and he hauled her to her feet, his guards quickly at her sides as she swayed.

Thorin had risen immediately behind her and she felt his hand at her back. " _Amrâlimê_ , are you sure you should be on your feet?"

"Indeed, _Nâtha_ , what happened to you?" her father asked.

Looking around at the faces of several of the males she was closest to, Rejna offered them a smile. "I am fine, I promise you," she said, her gaze falling on the king. "It is my own fault I met the floor, she did tell me to sit."

She let go her father's hands and moved toward the dining table—the dizziness had indeed passed. Thorin stayed at her side until she was seated, then he took the one next to her.

"She?" he queried. "Rejna, there was no one with you. Were you assaulted?"

Laughing, Rejna shook her head. "No, certainly not!" she assured him, taking his hand in hers as her father took his seat at the head of the table. "The Lady Yavanna came to me, _Amrâlumê_."

"The bride of the Maker?" Kíli asked.

She nodded. "Indeed, Master Kíli. When only her words were in my mind, I was quite all right. But never have one of the Valar spoken to me in such a manner, so I was alarmed and confused and demanded the speaker show herself. She told me to sit down and, stubborn goat that I am, I refused. So of course I fell when she made me lose consciousness."

Thorin frowned. "Mahal has spoken to me a time or two," he said slowly. "And once he appeared to me in a dream. But I did not fall."

"Were you already asleep?" Rejna countered.

He nodded. "He has spoken to me in my waking hours, but when I saw him I was asleep."

"Then that is why, my love. The Lady told me simply speaking to someone or entering a dream is harmless, but to cause a person to lose consciousness was unsettling to them. She also said that entering my mind was easier than trying to make herself appear here."

After studying her intently for a moment longer, Thorin sighed, relief relaxing his features. He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. "When I walked in here with your father and saw you on the floor, I forgot every reason I had to be angry with you."

The door was opened then and in walked Irma, one of the healers. Rejna groaned as she approached and she looked to her father. "You rang for a healer?"

"Of course I did! Rejna, you were unconscious on the floor—what would you have done?" her father countered.

"I assure you, I am fine! Yavanna would not intentionally harm me—it was a great blessing to see and speak with Mahal's One."

An expression of awe flitted across the healer's features as she came to a stop before her, then she schooled her expression. "Blessed you certainly were, my Princess, but just the same I am told you fell. Sit still long enough for a quick examination, and I shall be satisfied you didn't knock something loose when your head hit the floor."

Rejna rolled her eyes but allowed the healer to do her work. She finished poking and prodding her in just a few minutes, and as she stood to leave she placed a hand on her shoulder. "Someday I would hope you might tell me of Yavanna, Princess. I would very much like to know what the Maker's bride looks like."

The princess smiled and reached up to put her hand atop the healer's. "I can tell you now, Irma—she is stunning beyond words. Her laugh was like the ringing of silver bells, her voice soft and kind. And though the first of our kin were forged by her mate, she spoke to me in a motherly fashion. It was comforting, even though I was being scolded."

Irma smiled, then after bowing her head to the king and dropping to a curtsey, she departed. The king then picked up the bell sitting on the table and rang it, and servants began to flow in minutes later carrying trays laden with meats, bread, cheeses, fruits, oatmeal, eggs, juice, and coffee. Kíli, Dag, Jormun, and Solveg were invited to take breakfast with them; the brothers declined saying they'd already eaten, at which Ragin laughed and said, "I ought to have known that."

Dag and Kíli accepted the invitation eagerly. Once everyone had filled their plates and had eaten a few mouthfuls, Rejna turned to Thorin and said, "Though you have said I am forgiven, I still must apologize to you for my behavior last night and this morn. I did not respect the fact that you are not one of my soldiers but my partner, my equal—this was the message that the Lady Yavanna imparted to me. I should have asked you to stay in the palace, not ordered you to. And on visiting what are meant to be your private chambers, I should have knocked and waited for you to grant me permission to enter. I am sorry."

Thorin bowed his head in acknowledgement. "No doubt I could also have handled myself better than I did. I am not used to being ordered around, nor cared for as deeply as I know you care for me."

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "And given my state of undress when you walked in, it was good I was angry, if only to prevent us completing our bond before we are wed."

Her cheeks colored as heat flushed her neck and face. Rejna smiled hugely, then reached for his hand again and gave it a squeeze. "Then it is probably best you return to your apartment, that we are not tempted again. As much as I desire to keep you close, I should not like to set tongues wagging or give that _rukhs sadzul_ Hagen any fuel for his campaign against us."

"And what about guards?" Thorin asked. She could tell he did not want to even say the words, and from his expression, it was clear the idea of having guards posted at his door bothered him.

Not posting them there would bother her, but she'd already risked alienating him by insisting he take one on to begin with. With reluctance, Rejna replied, "I suppose it will not be necessary to post guards outside your door. Though I will not hesitate in telling you that I wish you would consider additional security."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that much longer," Kíli put in around a mouthful of bacon. "Once Dwalin finds out, and you know Fee will likely see him before we do…"

Thorin groaned. "Indeed. I'll not be able to keep him away now."

As he spoke, voices rose outside in the hall, and a moment later there was a knock at the dining room door. A moment later, Jormun stepped inside. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but Lord Commander Dwalin has arrived and he's… well, he's quite insistent on seeing Lord Thorin."

Kíli's expression clearly said, _What did I tell you?_ Rejna watched her One and her father look to each other. "It is your call, _agnât'dashat_ ," the elder dwarrow said.

Thorin threw up a hand in resignation. "Might as well show him in."

"Very good, sir," Jormun said, then turned smartly and opened the door again. Dwalin strode in, a scowl on his face. Grasper and Keeper were once again strapped to his back, and all his knives were in place as they'd been just two days ago.

"You'll not be turning me away this time, Thorin!" the warrior dwarf said without preamble.

"Wouldn't dream of trying," Thorin muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rejna had to cover her mouth to hold in the laugh that threatened to break out. From beside her Thorin sent a dark look her way.

"I mean it, if you try to give me that duty nonsense like you did—wait, really?"

At Dwalin's abrupt change, she lost control. Rejna burst out laughing, joined by her father and then Kíli, followed by Dag. With a shake of his head, Thorin relented enough to let slip a grin.

He then turned in his chair to look up at his friend and said in a stern voice, "You will breakfast with your wife, you will eat supper with your wife, and you will sleep in your own home. Lunch is negotiable, as I may join you for her fine cooking or I may take it here with the princess. We may yet dine elsewhere in the kingdom. It will simply depend on how our schedules go."

Dwalin nodded. "As you wish, my Lord."

Thorin scoffed. "You can dispense with that 'my Lord' nonsense. I used to change your nappies."

Kíli snorted at that and Dwalin's cheeks reddened. The elder dwarf shot the younger a scowl and he sobered. "What about second breakfast? Elevensies? Afternoon tea? Dinner?"

"Dwalin has done without before, as have we," Thorin said.

"Now that the matter of my soon-to-be son-in-law's security is settled, and he and my daughter have assuaged their…disgruntled feelings—" This caused a bushy eyebrow to lift on Dwalin's face. "—I think we've but one more matter to attend to."

Rejna turned to him. "And what is that, _Adad_?"

"Why, your betrothal, my dear," he replied with a wide grin.

She looked to Thorin, who wore a smile as he reached into an inside pocket of his vest and produced a bead of ivory with three—no, four—brilliant blue sapphires. She felt her own face split into a grin. It was beautiful, and would match perfectly with her courting bead, itself a sapphire topped by a tiny silver crown.

"With your permission, Your Majesty," he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rejna saw her father nod. "With my blessing, my son."

 **-...-**

Fíli had breakfasted with Dwalin and Larkspur, at which time he filled his cousin in on what had happened the night before with Thorin and Kíli. Dwalin had declared he would be Thorin's bodyguard alongside Kíli whether Thorin wanted him to be or not, saying he'd taken enough chances without him there. Larkspur had sighed resignedly, as though she'd known this was coming.

"Forgive me, my love," Dwalin said to her as he was preparing to leave after the meal. "But he is my king."

"And he always has been, I know," Larkspur replied. "As much as it pains me I shall see you less, I know you must follow your conscience. Just… do be careful, Dwalin. Take care of Thorin and keep him safe if that fool tries again, but be sure to take care of yourself as well. I shall be very cross if you don't come home every night."

Fíli tried not to watch as Dwalin had kissed her lips, then touched his brow to hers as his hands came to rest on her softly rounded belly. "I have too much to live for to take unnecessary risks. I will come home to the both of you each and every night, you have my word."

The blond dwarf would have left right after Dwalin walked out the door but for the tears in Larkspur's eyes. He pretended not to see them as he offered to wash the dishes, knowing she was not quite ready to be left alone. Larkspur smiled her thanks and headed out, turning down the hall that led to the bathroom, and Fíli quickly got to work.

"Now you listen here, Asrân," he said to the white wolf, who had watched his mistress depart the room with a soft whine. The yellow-eyed lupine turned his attention to him. "You stick by her side. Do cute puppy things to make her laugh. Help your _amad_ feel better."

Asrân lifted his head and howled softly as though in agreement. Fíli grinned and went back to his task. There hadn't been much to wash, and by the time Larkspur returned, he was setting the last plate into the drying rack.

"Fíli, would it be an inconvenience for you to walk with me to the castle? I'd like to pay a visit to Sindri, see how she and Alfir are doing."

"Of course not," he replied. "I'll be heading down to Melindë's to put a last coat of paint on the walls today, if anyone asks where I am."

Larkspur smiled and went to gather her bag of sewing supplies. As the hobbit and her wolf were familiar faces on castle grounds, they were quickly ushered into the courtyard. She stopped as they reached the steps and turned to him.

"I can manage from here, Fee. Thank you."

"Are you certain?" he asked.

Larkspur nodded. "Aye, I'll be fine. I know the way to Sindri's chambers by heart. I just…"

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Wasn't ready to be alone?"

She nodded, a sheepish smile on her face. "Dwalin's left for the whole day before, as you well know, but this morning was… different somehow. Perhaps because that git across the way's tried to kill your uncle twice and now Dwalin's going to be his guardian. I knew the moment you told us what happened last night that there'd be no keeping him from doing what he left Erebor to do."

"Larkspur, you are just as important to Dwalin as Thorin is—more so, in fact. If it were ever to come to a choice between the two of you, he would choose you without hesitation," Fíli told her earnestly. "I hope you believe that. Loyalty and concern for my uncle may be what drives him now, but his concern for you—his love for you—will always come first."

"I know that. Truly I do. I believe it," she said. "But I'll be honest with you—sometimes it's hard to remember, like this morning. Dwalin loves that bloody cousin of his so deeply, I know he really would lay down his life for him. I just hope like heck he will think of us first and try to find a way to get out of a dangerous situation without having to do it. I want him to come home to me, to our child."

She seemed so vulnerable, Fíli could do naught but draw her to him. "I've seen that fierce loyalty of Dwalin's, Lark. I've felt it myself. But I can assure you, as another dwarf who's found his One, you _will_ come first. Dwalin knows he's got Mahal's greatest gifts to go home to at night, and he won't be doing that if he does anything stupid. He will walk out the door each morning wanting to walk back through it and see that smile of yours that's only for him. When your babe is born, he'll want to see that sweet face before he leaves and when he returns. Those thoughts will drive him to do whatever it takes to find his way home again."

Her arms had been loose when they'd gone around his waist, but they tightened as she sighed, then she stepped back and smiled. "Melindë is a very lucky female," she said. "You always seem to know just what to say to a girl to make her feel better."

Fíli grinned. "And you sure know how to stroke a dwarf's ego. Go on now. I'll bet Sindri's just waiting to push Alfir into your arms so she can take a bath or something."

Larkspur laughed and started up the stairs again, waving goodbye as she and Asrân reached the top. Fíli waved back and headed for the gate, and once through, he hurried back around the side of the mountain to get to the stable by the hobbit hole. He'd decided to ride Lark's pony down into the south Valley today, as Melindë's horse seemed to enjoy the company when he brought one of the ponies down. The other ponies he turned out into the fenced yard after making sure their water trough was full, taking note that Brownie and Mist were starting to fill out with their own pregnancies.

Fíli nodded or waved at the people he knew as he came near to Melindë's property. His was as familiar a face here as Larkspur's was at the palace. Grilka, the neighbor who'd spotted Etten on the morning of the grave desecration, had taken to greeting him by name. She was one of those dwarves who said she wished she had been more outspoken in Melindë's defense—had even offered time and again to help her out with "those _lulkhul karâh_ " by giving them a sound beating. Melindë had always smiled and politely declined, saying she didn't want to make the situation worse by resorting to violence.

"It's a wonder she's such a sweet girl, after all she's been through," Grilka had said one day, after Fíli admitted he'd indeed declared Melindë was his One.

The walls were all painted, the windows open to the humid late summer air, when Fíli stepped outside to take a break with his pipe. He'd just sat at the little table he'd made for sitting in the shade of the eaves when he spotted Grilka heading his way with a basket on her arm, and suspected she'd come with a sandwich or something of that nature. Though he had told her several times that he'd brought food to put into the pantry, she always dismissed his protests with a wave of her hand and a snort of indignation, saying she'd feed him and that was that. So he'd stopped arguing and accepted her deliveries with a gracious smile. Today it was a bowl of olyphant stew, with fresh-baked bread and a large skin of ale.

"Why do you insist on bringing me food every day that I'm here?" he asked as she was walking away, wondering if she might actually answer this time.

Grilka paused in mid-stride, then turned and looked at him. "You remind me of someone I used to know," she said. Then she turned right back around and continued toward her house.

Fíli shook his head, then dug into the food. A few minutes later, his eye caught sight of something heading upriver that set his heart to racing: the _Morren_.

Melindë was back a day early.

A grin split his face and he immediately jumped to his feet. He was across the yard and standing on the small dock before the medium-sized boat had even pulled up to it, a hand shielding his eyes as he looked for a head with red hair among those moving about on the deck.

He didn't see her, and that instantly sent alarm shooting through his veins.

"Belador!" he called, then placed his hands around his mouth and shouted the first mate's name again.

"Oi, Fíli! Give us a mo, will ye?" Belador returned.

"Where's Melindë?"

Belador did not respond directly to him; he fired off orders to the crew, who hurried to carry them out. A few minutes later, the _Morren_ was finally stopped alongside the dock, and two ropes were thrown over the sides.

"Fíli, will ye tie those off for us, mate?" Belador called down to him.

Hurrying to do what was asked, he was tying the second rope to its post when the rope and wood ladder he'd seen before was dropped over the side.

"Come on up."

The invitation did not need to be issued twice. Fíli scrambled nimbly up the ladder and took Belador's hand when it was offered. "Where's Melindë?" he asked again.

"In her cabin," Belador replied, turning to lead the way. "She's been rough sick the past couple o' days. Do nae know why—girl's ne'er been seasick a'fore. 'Tis why we're back a mite early."

When the door to the captain's cabin was opened for him, Melindë was just retching into a bucket. Fíli strode quickly to her side and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. " _Ibriz_ , my poor girl. It hurts me to see you ill."

"Hurts me ta be ill," she replied.

Fíli chuckled, careful to put his arm around her gently. He kissed her temple, not caring that it was damp with sweat, then lightly touched his brow to the spot as he said, "I have missed you."

"I've missed you," Melindë replied weakly. "I do nae know what's come o'er me. I'm mad hungry all the time, but cannae seem ta keep anythin' down."

"Maybe Grilka can whip up a pot of soup for you to help settle your stomach," he said. "She's been feeding me almost every day that I've been to your place, though she won't tell me why beyond I remind her of someone."

Melindë drew a deep breath, then looked at him at last. Her smile was tired, as were her eyes, but she smiled! That made Fíli's heart jump with joy despite her looking so worn out from the vomiting.

"Her son, I don't doubt," she said. "Grahn was about your age when he died. 'Twas five years ago, I think; he drowned during a flash flood about mid-summer. His death about broke the old lass. Come ta think of it, ya do look a mite like 'im. But I think his eyes were brown."

"Do you think you can stand? I'm sure Belador won't mind taking care of things while I get you off the boat and into bed," Fíli suggested.

"I want a bath first," Melindë countered. "We do nae get ta take 'em when we're out on the boat, lest we want ta smell like the sea. I can't believe yer so close ta me, I must be rank—not ta mention this bucket o' mess smells vile."

Fíli grinned again. "Your wish is my command. And so long as you don't smell of apples, I can handle anything."

"What's wrong with apples?" she asked as he helped her to stand. "I've seen ya eat one."

"I should clarify that to say _cooked_ apples or apple cider. You see, I took a ride down a river in a wine barrel once," he explained as they walked slowly toward the open cabin door. He kept his arm about her waist in case her weakness caused her to fall. "It had apparently once held an apple-based brew. Ever since then, the smell of cooked apples, apple cider, or even applesauce makes me nauseous—a pity, really, since I used to love apple pie, hot cider, and applesauce with cinnamon. Fresh apples I can eat so long as I don't breathe through my nose."

"What the devil were ye ridin' in a wine barrel down a river for?" Melindë asked as they made their way across the deck.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you sometime when you're feeling better—you'll want to be rested up for it," he told her.

Belador approached them as they reached the railing. "Do nae worry, Cap'n. Ye know me and the boys will get the fish ta market and all. I'll bring yer pack ta ye later."

"The fish can keep another day, Bel," Melindë said. "Bring my bag if'n ya will, but after I want ye all ta go home ta yer families. Hopefully this damnable bug will pass and I'll be able ta go ta market with ye tomorrow."

Belador nodded, then turned toward the crew, who were coiling ropes and wrapping the sails. "Oi, Raden. Go an' fetch the cap'n's bag out o' her cabin, eh?"

To Fíli he said, "I'll toss it down to ye."

Fíli nodded, then said to Melindë, "Let me go first."

She nodded. He slipped quickly over the side and went down a few rungs, then Belador helped her over the railing. They made their way slowly down the ladder, Melindë groaning each time it shook, but in minutes Fíli had his feet on the small dock, and with his hands at her waist he lifted her down the rest of the way. She swayed on her feet and heaved, but nothing came out. Raden came over and dropped her pack over the side and he caught it by the strap before it hit the ground. After slinging the bag over one shoulder, he positioned himself so that he could pick his One up.

"Fíli, I'm sure I can walk ta the house on me own," she admonished him.

" _Ibriz_ , you've been sick for two days. Let me carry you," he countered.

She was clearly too tired to argue, and so nodded. Melindë slipped one arm around his shoulders and took a breath, and then Fíli lifted. She moaned again and he paused before taking his first steps.

In just a few minutes, he had her inside and in her room. Fíli sat her on the edge of the bed as carefully as he could. "Why don't you lie down for a bit while I pump and heat the water for your bath?"

"Sounds like a splendid idea, _melui naug nín_ ," Melindë replied.

Fíli smiled as she laid back and curled her legs up to her chest. After slipping the bag off his shoulder he moved to her feet and removed her boots, then walked quickly into the kitchen to start a fire to heat her bath water. She made not a peep while he worked, which he prayed meant she was sleeping. After pumping three buckets' worth of water, all that would fit into the largest pot she owned, he put it over the fire and went to retrieve his abandoned lunch. He ate a few spoonfuls of the now-cool stew but saved the rest of the bread for Melindë, recalling that Larkspur had said dry bread and crackers had helped settle her stomach during the early days of her pregnancy.

As he had that thought, he nearly dropped the bowl in his hands. He and Melindë had made love multiple times the night before her departure. That was near three weeks ago exactly.

 _Mahal be merciful_.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _rukhs sadzul_ – orc spawn (lit. "orc" and "offspring-like")

 _lulkhul karâh_ – foolish pussies (lit. "foolish" and "female genital organs")


	58. Chapter 58

**I humbly give thanks, as always, to the wonderful readers of this continuing epic. Shout-outs to my Rockstar Reviewers: readergirl4985, dearreader, readpink, Celebrisilweth, Robinbird79, ValarenOfGondor, Rogue Lion, ThatOtherWriterGirl, gginsc, Guest, Emina, and Aashi. Special thanks also to Lithuenne and Tauros1234 for favoriting, as well as TwillinOfTheWillows for favoriting the first story in the series (hope she comes on over and reads this one too!).**

 **deardeader - No, it won't be as bad for Fee and Mel as it would be for Thorin, but they still don't want it to get out before they get married. And a Vegas trip with an impersonator presiding over the wedding would be funny!**

 **Rogue Lion - As you'll read in this chapter, the hope is to keep her detractors from finding out. And I did not forget "eat" in that part of the sentence, I wrote it that way on purpose as I've heard it said that way before. All the children that our favorite dwarves will sire are already named, but if I decide to change any of them I'll be sure to let everyone know. And Merry Christmas to you too!**

 **Guest - It's my understanding that people who've had what amounts to a religious experience tend to be eager to share it with others. Besides, nothing deeply personal was discussed, and given Rejna was being chastised for her behavior toward Thorin, she'd have discussed it with him for sure.**

 **Emina - Melindë and Fíli _are_ perfect together, aren't they? He's such a sweetheart, and she needs that after all those years of being harassed. Kíli _will_ find his One, I promise you that - his patience will be rewarded! And a Happy Christmas to you too!**

 **Aashi - I'm glad you loved the chapter so much. And you're right - Fíli will be a fantastic father!**

* * *

 **58\. Stay With Me**

"'Cause you're all I need."

~ Sam Smith, _Stay With Me_

* * *

No. She couldn't be.

Could she?

Surely it was too soon to tell. Or was it? After all, what the _razâd_ did he know about pregnancy and how soon a female would know?

Fíli set the bowl down and dropped his head into his hands. What was he going to do if Melindë _was_ pregnant? She could be disgraced further for conceiving out of wedlock whether he claimed the child or not, and the babe could not by law inherit his wealth and property unless he and Melindë were married at the time of birth.

Well, that much was a given—he would marry her tomorrow if she would have him. Melindë already knew he wanted to marry her, so a proposal was not likely to come as a complete surprise.

Oh, if his mother were alive… She would box his ears from here to the Khagal'abbad if she found out he'd sired a child without first being properly wed. She'd been a firm believer in proper behavior and following customs.

The sound of boiling water drew him from his thoughts. Fíli hurried to carry the pot to the bathroom and pour it into the tub. It had taken nine full buckets to fill the blasted thing last time—and with the time it took to heat that much water, he knew that a bath was never good and hot in this house. It occurred to him that one of the things that might convince her to move into the mountain with him was the promise of running water and a hot bath every night.

When at last the tub was full, he went to wake her and found her stirring. Melindë was stretching her arms over her head, the action bowing her back and pushing her breasts into the air. Desire blazed a trail straight to his groin, and by the time he crossed the room he was as hard as a rock.

Looking down into her sleepy smile, he said, "Hello there. Are you feeling any better, _Ibriz_?"

"As a matter o' fact I am," she replied. "Maybe I just needed me own bed—or I just needed you nearby."

Fíli grinned. "I like that last idea. Come," he said, holding out his hands. "Let's get you into that bath while the water's still warm."

Melindë took his hands and hauled herself into a sitting position, then stood carefully. "Me head's still a little fuzzy, but at least me stomach's not waging war on me right now."

"I'm glad to hear it. I do hope you'll be able to eat something soon."

"You and me both," she retorted. "I feel like I'm bloody starving."

Fíli blanched inwardly. A near-insatiable hunger was one of the symptoms dwarf females complained of when they conceived. Then again, if Melindë had been sick for two days, her hunger could easily stem just from eating little to nothing for the entire time she'd been ill.

In the bathroom, she peeled her stockings from her feet and then began to strip her clothes off. He stood back to watch, admiring once more that fine arse she'd been blessed with. Of course, that only served to remind him that his lust for her had been stirred. In his mind he pictured bending her over the side of the tub—

"Fíli, would ye care ta join me?"

He blinked, swallowing at the coy smile she wore. Then he grinned lasciviously and wiggled his eyebrows, shedding his own clothing as Melindë climbed into the water. He joined her a moment later and she surprised him again by grabbing his head in both hands and planting a fierce kiss on his lips. Fíli met the kiss with enthusiasm, and it was some time later, after they'd each cried out with their release, that the two of them actually bathed.

Now they sat in the kitchen, she with more food in front of her than he'd ever seen her take before. The possibility that she was carrying his child crossed his mind again as he finished off the stew Grilka had brought him earlier.

"Fíli, will ye marry me?"

Shock sent the spoonful of stew he'd just placed in his mouth across the table at her. Fíli's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. " _What?_ "

"For land's sake, if I'd known ye'd be that disgusted, I'd ne'er 'ave asked," Melindë said, her expression falling into a pout as she wiped at the spill.

He immediately tried to reassure her. "Mahal's hammer, no! _Ibriz_ , I'm not disgusted at all!" he exclaimed, and then a glint in her eye had him narrowing his.

"Why you little minx," he said. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

A grin replaced the pout. "Aye. Bein' unacquainted with courting rituals, I admit I asked Bel what fellas liked a girl ta do that weren't improper—'course, I did nae tell him we'd already crossed that line. Bel said most males of his acquaintance like their lady ta flirt and joke with 'em. I thought I'd try it."

She cleared her throat and her expression sobered. "I was kidding about ye being disgusted, but I weren't about gettin' married," she said in a soft voice. "Fíli, I need ta know if'n ya meant it when ye said ye wanted me ta be yer wife."

Fíli reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I meant every word," he replied. "I don't know if you'll believe me as yet, but I love you, Melindë. When a dwarf meets his One it's almost automatic, to tell the truth. We know we're _going to_ love her, so when we meet her it's as if we already do. I didn't say so before because I didn't want to frighten you, and with everything that happened, I wasn't sure you'd believe me."

He gave her hand a light squeeze. "What's brought this on?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew and he took a deep breath to try and prepare himself to hear her say the words.

She looked down at her plate. "My cycle's two weeks late," she mumbled. "I… I think I'm pregnant."

A flood of emotion crashed through him, but the frightened tone of her voice had Fíli putting all his worries and fears aside; he moved around the table and wordlessly lifted her out of her chair, taking her place and holding her on his lap. He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her softly before he said, "Do not be afraid, my love. I'm here for you."

It broke his heart when a tear slid down her cheek. "I… I was so scared ta tell ye. I… I was afraid all those promises ye made before were just pretty words. I've been late up to a week in the past so the first didnae concern me, but now two have gone and I've not bled. And with me bein' so sick the last couple of days, among other things…"

Fíli tried not to frown. "What other things?"

"Well, I do nae know if'n ye noticed, but me nips are quite sensitive, and me breasts have been achin' a bit. I've also been a wee bit more easily tired than usual and I pass water more often. Only thing I cannae explain is this ravenous hunger."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "That would be the dwarf part of our babe," he said, one hand moving to lay over her abdomen. "Dwarrow females eat constantly when with child, as though they'll never get enough."

 _Our babe_. The words had his heart swelling with pride. With love.

"There's somethin' I have ta say," Melindë went on, and she laid her free hand—her right arm was around his shoulders—over the one he had laid over her womb. "I do nae want ta hurt yer feelings, Fíli, but I want ta be as honest with you as ye've been with me."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Fíli nodded for her to continue.

"I do nae know if I love ye," she said slowly. "I _want_ to, but… Right now all I know is I want so very much for ye ta stay with me. I do nae want ye ta leave me, not ever. I do nae want ta be alone—I cannae do this on me own."

Fíli lifted his hand and gently brushed away the tears that fell. "You will not have to, _Ibriz_. I told you, I am here for you. You are my One, and that means you are the only female I will ever truly love. I want so very much to marry you, because Mahal says you are perfect for me. Because I love you. I want you to share my home, my bed, to be the mother of my children. I know that it must be unsettling for all this to be happening so quickly, but I swear to you, every word I say is true."

Melindë sniffled as she looked into his eyes. "I'm terrified o' givin' birth. Me mum died tryin' ta bring me brother into the world—I do nae want ta go through that."

He opened his mouth to offer reassurances, but she silenced him when she put a finger to his lips. "Ye know what will happen if it gets out I'm pregnant before we're married. It'll nae matter if ye claim the babe, if we marry later on. People will shame me just the same. I do nae think I can take another day o' their nonsense either, Fíli."

"You are absolutely right. You've suffered enough under their cruelty," he said. "I'll not allow you to be subjected to the stupidity of those mongrels if I can help it. If you truly believe getting married is the solution, and I agree that it is, then that is what we shall do. The fact that I already want to make you my wife simply makes it…simpler."

Melindë giggled and wiped at her face. She then kissed him and said, "I'll make sure ye don't regret it, _melui naug nín_."

"As if that were even possible," Fíli replied.

 **-...-**

While Melindë—who had suffered only mild nausea in the morning, for which they were both grateful—went to the ship with her crew to remove their catch of fish for sale, Fíli went on the hunt for wedding rings. He'd already crafted all the beads he would need to satisfy dwarf customs, having known that the day would come when she consented to be his wife. He'd certainly not expected it to be so soon, but fate was funny in that it did what it wanted when it wanted.

After they'd eaten their fill the night before, Fíli had pleated three of the four beads he'd made into her hair. Her courting bead was made of wood, for their having met in the woodshop. It was plain save for the two Tengwar symbols he'd carved into it in honor of her Númenórean heritage, one being the letter "M" and the other being the letter "I".

"'M' for Melindë?" she'd asked.

"And 'I' for _Ibriz_ ," he replied with a nod.

It would have been a task to find someone who could translate the book written in Tengwar he'd discovered in her parents' room—thankfully, Belador's mother Orenna had come by on one of the days he'd been repairing the house, hoping to meet him after rumor had reached her a blond dwarf had declared Melindë was his One. After assuring the Dúnadan of the veracity of the claim, she'd been more than happy to help him by pointing out the M and the I in Sindarin Tengwar script.

Although her betrothal and promise beads were silver and gold, respectively—the silver having sapphires and the gold rubies—Melindë had declared the wooden bead her favorite, for how much thought he'd put into making it. She'd appeared rather proud of the braids hanging over her shoulders when she'd left the house that morning, and he hoped that her confidence continued to grow. There was strength in his woman, Fíli was sure of it. She just needed to find it within herself.

When he had presented the beads to her, asking her to wear the symbols of dwarf mating, Melindë had agreed on the condition that he wear one of hers—a wedding ring. It was an old Númenórean custom, she said, derived from their Elvish ancestors' mating rituals, that a bride and groom exchanged gold rings on the day they married. That he had promised to abide by her customs as she was his was what led the young dwarf to ride through the Valley in search of a jewelry shop.

He entered the first one he saw, a bell ringing over the door to announce his entrance. Fíli told the pretty shop girl who greeted him what he was looking for and she flashed a brilliant smile before retrieving a tray with several gold rings on it. For himself he chose a plain, wide band. He considered briefly that Melindë ought to have chosen his ring, but then he thought of how simple her tastes were, and believed she'd have likely chosen the simple ring as well.

For her, the one that caught his eye was a ring carved with hands holding a heart with a crown on top. The shop girl said it was an old Elvish design the jeweler had seen in a book on a trip to Dol Amroth. When he asked if there was any meaning to it, she said the book her boss had seen it in said the hands represented friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart love.

It was perfect.

Problem was, he didn't have enough money to pay for both at once. Fíli begged the girl not to sell the rings, saying he'd be back within the hour. She agreed to hold them—but only for that long—and so he hurried out to Larkspur's pony and galloped toward the center mountain. He left the tan pony in the staging area and rushed up the three levels to his apartment. He was not altogether surprised to find that his uncle and brother were out, though Kíli had left a note on the dining table, telling him that he, Thorin, and Dwalin were going to spend most of the day working on the getaway cottage and that they hoped he would join them in the castle for dinner to celebrate Thorin's birthday.

Durin's beard—he'd forgotten today was Thorin's birthday. Had they not died or been displaced by four years, he'd have been marking the end of his second century. But because both had happened, his uncle was only marking his 196th year.

Fíli quickly rummaged through his trunk for enough gold and silver to pay for the rings, then made his way back out again. He returned to the jewelry store in just under an hour and walked out of it several minutes later feeling like the happiest dwarf in the kingdom. He amended that by thinking he would be once he and Melindë were husband and wife. Having fixed up her house for her fulfilled the custom of building a home or dedicating a room in her honor, so all they really had to do was hold a ceremony.

Well, there _was_ the matter of the bride price, but who could he offer gold, silver, or gemstones to when his bride had no family?

Belador came to mind as he rode back down the Valley toward the house, and he resolved to speak to him. Melindë had said he was like a brother to her, and in place of a blood relative he would be the ideal person to fill the role. Fíli just wished he had some idea what Belador might ask for.

It was as he was preparing lunch for himself and Melindë that she and Belador returned from the market, and they weren't alone. Orenna and her younger son, Oradir, had joined them, the elder woman thankfully bringing along a basket full of food. The five of them picnicked outside, Melindë surprising her friends with how much she ate, and when his love went inside to use the facilities, Fíli knew the opportune moment had arrived.

He quickly laid out the plan he and Melindë had discussed the previous evening, stating that they would marry that same night if his uncle was amenable to it, otherwise they'd wait until the morrow.

"Is there any partic'lar reason ye and Mel desire ta wed so quickly?" Belador asked.

Orenna swatted her son's arm. "'Tis none of yer concern why," she scolded lightly. "If Melindë wishes ta marry tonight it is her choice. Do nae question her good fortune in being blessed with this fella's love and rejoice with her."

Fíli felt a blush coloring his cheeks at her praise, but he held Belador's gaze. "There is a reason, in fact, but I'll not discuss it without her consent."

"No need ta be shy on my account," Melindë said as she came out of the house. "I'm fairly certain Bel already knows."

Now it was her friend's turn to color at the cheek. "I… suspected. But do nae worry, I said nae a word ta the fellas."

"I do nae think ye did, Belador," she said as she lowered herself down next to Fíli. "Though I've little doubt they suspect as well. They're nae a bunch of addle-brains, our crew."

"And yer sure this is what ye want ta do?"

She took Fíli's hand as she replied, "It is what I have ta do. Ye know that."

Oradir suddenly said, "So ye lot know and the crew o' the _Morren_ knows what's goin' on. Would ye mind cluin' the rest o' us in?"

The younger brother also got swatted by his mother. "It is Fíli and Melindë's personal business, son. Never ye mind."

"Thank ye kindly, Orenna, but I migh' as well tell ye both now," Melindë said. "Fíli and I are gettin' married because there's a very good chance we'll be parents in eight or nine months."

"And because I love her," Fíli added, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Orenna's face lit up. "Oh, is that what the beads in yer hair be for? Some sort of Dwarvish wedding custom?"

Fíli happily explained the beads he'd given Melindë, and having promised to keep the news of the baby to themselves, Orenna, Belador, and Oradir departed soon after.

When they three had gone, Melindë looked toward her house and sighed. "What will I do with this place, if I live in the mountain with ye?"

The cottage Thorin was building for Rejna came to mind, and so Fíli said, "We'll keep it. When the daily grind of life in the mountain gets to be too much for us, we'll come down here for a few days. I'm sure we can get Belador or even Grilka to keep an eye on the place."

She turned her gaze to his. "And what will life be like—for me I mean?"

"You can do whatever you want, or nothing at all," he replied. "Personally I'd rather like it if you gave up fishing—I hate being apart from you for weeks on end. When my kinsmen arrive in another two moons, they'll have brought some money for those of us living here. I'll be able to pay the rest of what you owe on the _Morren_ and then some, and I'm sure we can convince Belador to take over as captain."

"But Fíli, I do nae really know any other life. I admit I never really wanted ta be a fisher, but 'twas an obligation I felt I had ta fulfill, bein' me mum's boat and all," she told him, then tilted her head. "Well, there was also me jobs in the taverns pullin' pints and cleanin' rooms, what I done ta earn the money fer getting' the boat back, but I do nae want ta go back ta doin' that, either. I haven't any other skills—I can barely read."

She appeared embarrassed by the last confession, and so he kissed her to show her he did not care.

"Then you'll learn to read," he said. "Larkspur, I'm sure, would be happy to teach you—helping little ones learn to read and write is her area of expertise. And I'm also sure that some occupation will capture your attention, something you'll love doing."

"And if I do nae?"

"Then you can just let me pamper you and our children," Fíli replied with a grin.

Melindë scoffed. "Children? We've nae even come close ta havin' this one yet. Let's nae get too ambitious, Master Fíli."

 **-...-**

Both trepidation and excitement flooded his veins when Fíli entered his apartment later that afternoon. He'd reluctantly parted from Melindë after she declared she was tired enough for a nap, and he'd put her to bed after saying Belador would fetch her and they'd meet at the castle later.

He knew he'd have to dress more appropriately for a dinner party in the palace, so he'd headed home. Fíli was met by the curious stares of his uncle, his brother, and two of the wolves.

It was now or never.

"I'm really glad the two of you are here," he said, then he told them what he and Melindë wanted to do—and why.

"We can wait until tomorrow, of course, since it's your birthday and all, Uncle," Fíli hurried to add. "But given her condition, timing is sort of running short. We don't want any more gossip to be bandied about, so marrying quickly is our best option for preventing it. And I'm sorry I forgot it was your birthday and don't have a gift for you—"

Thorin halted his words when he stood and strode over to him. "You are giving me a niece. That is gift enough," he said, and a smile slowly appeared on the older dwarf's face. "The circumstances may not be ideal, but I am proud of you for doing the responsible thing and taking Melindë to wife. And what better way to celebrate a long life such as mine than by the beginning of a new one?"

"And it certainly doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous and your One to boot," Kíli quipped.

Fíli felt as though a weight were lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you, Uncle."

Thorin nodded, and after an hour or so more of discussion the three of them retreated to their rooms to begin readying for the party—Kíli was glad he didn't have to wear his armor for the evening. Dwalin and Larkspur were at their door as twilight fell (he'd been taken off to be fitted for armor as well, his brother told him with a snicker), and the five of them made their way out of the mountain. They were entering the gate when Fíli heard his name being called.

He turned around at the sound of Belador's voice and felt his breath catch. Behind him were Orenna and Oradir. To one side, her hand on his arm, her hair save for her braids swept up into some sort of fancy do, was Melindë. She was wearing a green gown with open, flowing sleeves.

He'd never seen her wear a dress before.

Striding away from his family, Fíli went to her and she immediately let go her friend to take the hand he held out. Lifting the other, he gently brought her head down until their brows touched.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

Melindë lifted her head and studied his face. She then looked over his shoulder for a moment, then back to him as she said, "Yer sure this dress be all right? I've nae worn one in ten years, it feels strange on me. I had to borrow it from Orenna…"

Ten years she'd not worn a dress, he thought. Ever since that bastard Ioreth…

Fíli halted his thoughts. He'd not allow that dead bugger's evil to spoil his evening with irrational anger.

"You look beautiful," he repeated, and offered her a smile. "Come now, and let us go get married."

 **-...-**

They'd waited until after dinner to make the announcement to the other guests, which included King Ragin, Princess Rejna, Solveg and Jormun, Dag, and Árni and Sindri—baby Alfir was being cared for by Sindri's parents, and the new mother was delighted with having a chance to leave her chambers for the evening.

Ragin and Rejna were equally delighted with having a wedding to preside over, even though Fíli and Melindë had chosen to do what her ancestors had done—for elves and the Númenóreans of old, all that was required to certify the marriage was for them to declare their intent before a gathering of family and friends and exchange gold rings. When Fíli placed Melindë's ring on her right forefinger, he explained to her what the design allegedly meant.

"But to me, it means so much more," he told her. "The crown is loyalty, for I hereby pledge that I will protect you, defend you, and forsake all others but you for all of our days. These hands, they represent honor, for I will honor you with my labor to provide for you—you will want for nothing—for all of our days. And the heart, it represents my own loving heart, which has belonged to you from the moment we met and shall be yours for all of our days."

Tears spilled down her cheeks even as she smiled. "Loyalty, honor, and a loving heart," she said softly as she looked at the ring. Lifting her eyes to his, she added, "Is this what it feels like? Ta be loved? Ta… ta love someone? I'm nae sure, but I know that right now I'm the happiest I've e'er been. Ye accept me, ye accept the past, and ye embrace the future."

She then took the ring that Belador held and slid it over his finger. Fíli smiled hugely, wanting so much to kiss her in that moment, and barely restrained himself, knowing it was not yet the time.

"I will take care of ye, Fíli," Melindë said then. "I'll do whate'er I can ta make ye happy for all of our days."

Thorin then cleared his throat. Fíli knew this was the moment he had been dreading. "Has an appropriate bride price been offered and accepted?" he asked.

Fíli looked to Belador as he said, "Well… No. We never had a chance to discuss it."

Belador looked to his mother and brother, then took a step closer. "As I stand as Melindë's family, I say this: I do nae want gold, or silver, and though me mother might be delighted by them, I do nae want gemstones."

This sent a light chuckle through the small crowd. The Dúnadan flashed a smile before he sobered, his attention still on Fíli. "What I want is a promise. 'Tis me understandin' that honor is valued highly among dwarves, that ta give yer word is a pledge of honor—and that ta break such a pledge is ta bring shame nae only on ye but on yer whole family.

"So I want ye ta give me yer word of honor, Fíli, that ye'll ne'er raise a hand to strike Melindë. Ye'll ne'er force her into yer bed, ye will ne'er walk away from her in a fit o' anger and leave her fendin' fer herself and her children. Ye will be responsible for makin' her happy, keepin' her happy, and makin' sure she knows e'ry single day that she's loved by ye."

Fíli held the taller man's firm gaze as he reached behind his back and withdrew one of his many secreted blades. He then held his hand out and lightly drew the sharp metal across his palm, eliciting a gasp from his bride as blood welled.

"I Fíli, son of Síli, swear on my blood and the blood of my fathers. You have my word of honor that I will be Melindë's strength, I will be her hope, I will keep her faith when it is gone. She will not be hit, she will not be forced, she will not be abandoned. Until the day my life is through, this I swear to you."

Belador stared a moment longer at him and then laughed. "A simple 'I promise' would have sufficed," he said.

Fíli shook his head and joined the others in laughing. It might not have been necessary to swear a blood oath, but he could not regret it. After wrapping his hand with one of the cloth napkins from the dining table, he wove the marriage bead into her hair, then he and Melindë at last sealed their vows with a kiss.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

Khagal'abbad – Blue Mountains


	59. Chapter 59

**Thank you every single person who reads this story! I just had to say that because without you this story would be lonely. And we can't let our favorite dwarves be lonely, now can we? ;) Special thanks go to my Rockstar Reviewers - readergirl4985, ThatOtherWriterGirl, LoveMeSomeFili, gginsc, Adoniss, Robinbird79, ValarenOfGondor, readpink, Rogue Lion, Celebrisilweth, and Guest. Another shout-out to LoveMeSomeFili who wrote the 500th review!**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - Yep, Fee is a married fella now. And a sweetheart. And yes, Mel will definitely give him all the squeezes he could ever need. ;)**

 **gginsc - Yep, their love has come along!**

 **Rogue Lion - Fíli did not object to the Elvish origin of Melindë's customs because they were** _ **hers**_ **. He could hardly ask her to wear beads in her hair and then refuse to wear a ring. He also agreed to a** **Númenórean** **ceremony (which I said was derived from the Elvish ceremony for my own purposes; there is nothing in canon on the marriage customs of Men) because it was what she wanted, and he was willing to do whatever she asked of him because he wanted her to be comfortable with marrying him. She was nervous enough as it was! No, Fíli's wedding is not going to be a big deal. And yeah, it kinda seems that way, doesn't it? *whistles innocently***

 **Guest - Melindë has good reason to fear childbirth and abandonment, but Fíli will help her get over those feelings by being the loving, supportive husband she needs him to be (and because he wants to be awesome for her!). And no, the cut wasn't deep - basically just a light scratch, only enough to draw blood. And it won't take two months in real-time, just in-story. Balin and Nori (you were close!) are coming sooner than you think.**

* * *

 **59\. Sucker Punched**

* * *

The next several weeks seemed to fly by.

Fíli and Melindë spent their first week of marriage holed up in her house. In those seven days, the two learned a lot about each other, such as who got what side of the bed. Melindë learned that Fíli had a great love of ale and didn't care where his clothes landed when he took them off. He learned quickly that she wasn't much of a drinker and that her ire was easily roused if he didn't clean up after himself. One thing they had in common was a preference for using the toilet alone. Fíli didn't mind cooking, and he was more than happy to take care of her when she would let him; Melindë was so used to fending for herself that having someone who _wanted_ to take care of her was difficult to get used to.

When the marriage week ended and she officially moved into the dwarves' apartment, Thorin and Kíli welcomed her presence warmly and quickly grew used to having a female living with them once more. In turn, Melindë had to adjust to the presence of two more males willing to do things for her she'd always done for herself. Because she had agreed—and gladly so—to give up fishing, Melindë declared she would take on the household chores, cleaning and cooking and seeing to it that their laundry was done. Thorin told her firmly that those tasks were what Léof was paid for, to which she replied that while it was taking some getting used to, she knew that it was a female's duty to care for her kin and she was no stranger to hard work. However, with three males in the house besides herself, after a week or so she'd relented so far as to allow the steward to assist her.

She was also happy to do it, she confessed to Fíli one night, because it had been "so achingly long" since she'd had family to care for, and because it was helping her to get used to being married and cared for in return.

To occupy her time when she wasn't taking care of her new family members, Melindë spent a lot of time with Larkspur—and was pleasantly surprised that the hobbit's circle of friends was so welcoming. When it was confirmed by a healer a moon after the wedding that she was, in fact, pregnant (the princess' personal physician, Irma, was thankfully discreet as to precisely how far along she really was), the ladies she'd been introduced to were more than happy to share their stories and tips on how to take care of herself. They did what they could to calm her fears about the birthing process as well, but she still was nervous even though the day was months from arriving.

Her reading and writing skills vastly improved with Larkspur's joyfully given aid, and soon Melindë began to show an interest in history, politics, and poetry. She made it a goal to read at least one whole book every day, and vowed to increase the number when she could read without difficulty. Orenna soon joined the growing group of ladies and made the younger woman's dream of learning to read and write Sindarin come true—Melindë had been able to speak it since childhood, but had never learned to properly read and write it because her mother could not either. The language had only been passed down orally in her family for the last few generations.

Melindë also, with the blessing of the royal family and their loyal supporters on the council—Hagen was mysteriously quiet on the matter—started a program to teach other adults who were illiterate how to read and write and do basic sums. She said it was her way of contributing to the community and showing the Valar she was thankful for their blessings.

Belador, it turned out, was more than happy to take over the captaincy of the _Morren_ , and at last convinced his brother to join the crew to fill out the roster. Because she would still technically own the boat, he pledged to Melindë that not only would she get first pick from every catch, she would receive 10% of what they earned.

Rejna and Thorin were quite busy as the days passed. She filled her time with troop training and the planning of the wedding—they would hold a private ceremony just for family and a few intimate friends, and then open the courtyard and public areas of the castle to the people for the celebration afterward. Thorin was occupied with building their hobbit hole getaway cottage and renovating one of the castle dining rooms into a Queen's Court. When time permitted, they went on tours of the kingdom, visiting in the capital again as well as traveling through the Valley, Westrock, and even Eastfell. In each settlement they paid their respects to the Lord of the city, though Hagen had rebuffed their efforts and turned them away, claiming he was "too overburdened with seeing to the ruling of the city" to entertain them.

No further attempts on Thorin's life were made, but that did not mean his guardians were not ever watchful. The three survivors from the second attack had, as suspected, refused to name their employer. Because none but their compatriot had been harmed, they were sentenced to hard labor in the mines for the rest of their days rather than execution.

Much to Dwalin's delight, Larkspur grew steadily larger as their baby developed. She was quite undeniably pregnant by the time the caravan was due to arrive from the north. The warrior dwarf grew increasingly nervous as the expected date of arrival drew near, still anticipating a tirade from his brother about having kept Thorin and the boys a secret.

"He'll be angry, I tell you," he said one evening. "Balin may well be one of the kindest, wisest dwarrow in existence, but even he has a mighty Durin temper."

 **-...-**

The wagon kept up a steady rattle as the caravan moved forward. They'd rounded the end of the eastern arm of the semi-circle and were now making their way up into the valley. Balin and Nori looked to one another with surprise at the number of dwarf children running around, though most of those they saw were clearly half-bloods. They'd been educated that intermarriage was welcomed in Dwarrowvale, but that had not prepared them for the sheer number of mixed couples and children they set eyes upon.

Men and dwarves peeled away towards their homes as they went, leaving a much smaller group to go around the little forest and head toward the capital.

"Eh Bal, is that what it looks like?"

The white-haired dwarf looked to where his companion pointed. To the right of the center mountain was a large mound with…windows.

"Nori, I think you may well be right," Balin replied, and he flipped the reins in his hands, urging the two ponies that pulled the cart to go toward the grassy hill.

When they were only about 20 yards away, several people stepped out of the mound, cementing their notion that it was a hobbit hole. At least six of the figures Balin recognized, three of those setting his pulse to racing as he took in their faces.

They were alive. They really were alive.

Balin looked to Nori to find the same expression of stunned relief on his kinsman's face. When at last the wagon drew to a stop some 15 or so feet away, Dwalin stepped forward.

"Hello, _nadad_."

The anger and hurt he'd felt simmering below the surface ever since learning of the resurrection boiled over. Balin jumped down from his seat and angrily strode toward his brother, surprising everyone present—including himself—when he swung his fist into the taller dwarf's jaw.

"How could you?!" he yelled as Dwalin dropped like a stone to the ground. "How could you not tell me?! I am your brother!"

A female voice shouted Dwalin's name, and another he recognized as belonging to Princess Rejna uttered the words, "It is a dwarf matter, Larkspur. You should let them handle it."

"And I am a dwarf's wife!" said the first voice, and Balin looked up to see an angry female hobbit—a very pregnant one—marching toward him.

"How dare you treat your own brother in such a fashion?!" she said. "He only did what was asked of him. Would _you_ not keep such a thing to yourself if it had been asked of you?"

Balin frowned, perplexed by her behavior. "Who are you?" he asked.

The hobbit crossed her arms. "Larkspur Took—wife to Dwalin, son of Fundin. Your sister by marriage."

"Holy hammer of Mahal, did you really go and get yourself hitched, old boy?" Nori asked. "And look at that—she's already got a bairn bakin'!"

Dwalin rubbed his jaw as he hauled himself to his feet. "When the Maker puts your One before you, Nori, there is no denying his will."

Balin looked between the scowling hobbit lass and his brother. He noted the beads in Dwalin's beard were a close match to those Larkspur wore in her hair. "Your One? Your wife? You're going to be an _adad_?"

Dwalin grinned as he slipped an arm about Larkspur's shoulders. "Aye, to everything."

His brother was married. To a hobbit. They were going to have a baby.

Oh Mahal, a _baby!_ Their blood would go on!

Balin sighed, then chuckled. "Congratulations, _naddith_ ," he said, stepping over to embrace his brother in a bear hug. On parting they head-butted each other, after which he said, "But I'm not sorry for that punch—you deserved it."

"I asked him to keep silent," said a voice he'd not heard in nearly five years. "If there is anyone you should be angry with, it is me."

Balin turned to him, and he was not ashamed of the tears that came to his eyes—but thankfully did not fall—when he looked into the crystal blue eyes of Thorin.

He moved over to stand before the older dwarf, his one-time friend and king, the cousin to whom he had been as close as a brother. Throwing his arms around him, he held Thorin tighter than he had Dwalin.

"Mahal be praised," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Do I even want to ask what it is you asked Dwalin to keep a secret, _Amrâlumê_?"

Thorin stiffened and slowly pulled away. Balin could see in his eyes the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he said the words anyway.

"You haven't told her?" he whispered.

"Not yet," Thorin murmured, then turned to Rejna. "It is a long story, my dear. One day, perhaps, I shall tell you. For now, let us rejoice in the arrival of our kinsmen, for there is much news to share and to celebrate."

Kíli and Fíli were quick to help Nori stow the wagon and set the two ponies into the yard with the others. The trunks of treasure were carried inside and set in the library for the time being, and soon everyone was gathered around the kitchen table or sitting at the island with food in front of them.

Balin found himself staring in awe at Fíli, who'd just informed him he was married to the pretty red-haired daughter of Men at his side. "And that's not all," the blond dwarf said, his voice full of pride as he laid a hand on her belly. "Mel and I are going to be parents next year as well."

"Well bless my beard—a hearty congratulations to you and your lovely bride, cousin," Balin said.

"Virility is a hallmark of dwarf males, ladies," Nori said, pointing the end of his pipe between Larkspur and Melindë. "Mark my words: less than a year after these two are born, you'll be carryin' again."

"I should hope not, Master Nori," retorted Larkspur. "I'd much like my son or daughter to be out of nappies before I have another."

"Oi, there's five years between Fee and me," put in Kíli. "And ten between Balin and Dwalin."

"Seven between my brother and I, and another seven from him to our sister," Thorin added. "Not to mention how many are between you and your brothers."

Nori chuckled. "But our mothers were dams. These lovely birds are not, and we saw quite a few half-dwarf children as we were coming up the Valley. Madam Larkspur, I'll bet you ten silvers."

"Nori!" Balin admonished.

"Done," Larkspur agreed, and reached a hand across the table so they could shake on the deal.

The auburn-haired dwarf grinned around the stem of his pipe. "I like her, Dwalin. She's sassy like a dam and isn't afraid of a little wager."

"Speaking of dams," Balin interjected, glancing at the far end of the table where Thorin sat next to Rejna. "Did I hear you call Thorin 'my love', Princess?"

Rejna grinned. "Indeed I did. Turns out he and I were chosen for each other. Our Maker has blessed us both."

 _In more ways than one_ , Balin mused and she and Thorin shared a loving look. "And now that you are here, cousin," the latter added, "my lady and I can be wed."

"You waited for us?" Nori asked.

Thorin nodded as he looked to the dwarf whose hair was, as always, coifed in the shape of a star. "Balin missed the wedding of his brother, and he missed that of Fíli. I did not wish him to miss mine as well."

"How very kind of you to be so considerate," Balin said with a smile. "It will be such a joy to share your wedding day with you."

"Just wait until the wedding _night_!" Nori cried with a laugh. "You're like to burn the sheets letting out all that locked up lust—I cannot believe you've managed to wait all this time!"

Rejna colored but held her head high. Thorin tried and failed to hold onto a scowl, and ended up shaking his head as he laughed.

"Oh Nori… Even your inappropriate comments I have missed."

 **-...-**

Darkness had long fallen by the time Fíli escorted a tired Melindë home to their apartment. Rejna and her bodyguard had gone as well, and Kíli was outside with the wolves—Balin and Nori both had been intrigued by the tale of their birth—and the elder of the two knew he hadn't much time before Thorin's nephew came back inside.

He, Nori, Thorin, Dwalin, and Larkspur were situated around the fireplace in the parlor, the males with their pipes in hand. Nori had glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, and he knew he'd better get on with it.

"Thorin, I have some painful news to tell you, something you may want to keep from the lads as it will only break their hearts," he began.

"We are already aware that Dís has passed, if that is to what you refer," Thorin told him.

"I know, Dáin spoke of your secret attendance at the funeral," Balin said, turning to Nori who pulled a gold chain from his inside vest pocket. Attached to the chain was a large golden locket, the front of it set with many sapphires of Durin blue.

"I… I recognize that locket," Thorin said as Nori handed it to him. "It's been so many years… This was given to my sister on her tenth birthday, not long before Smaug…"

He paused as he pressed the little button that opened the locket. Inside, Balin knew, was a small but accurately detailed portrait of Dís as a child, along with her mother and her mother's mother.

"I found that amidst the mountains of gold and silver when I went in to fill those trunks for you all as Dáin bid me," Balin said. "I might have been a wee lad at the time, but I remembered the delight on the princess' face when your _amad_ presented it to her. They had just sat for the portrait a few days before, and a larger copy was made for the queen's study. Dís must have lost it during the flight from the mountain."

Here he paused, needing to draw a breath. "I remembered how much your sister cherished that locket, though she had not owned it long before the dragon came. So when I found it, I decided that she should have it back, and I went into the Tomb of Kings to slip it into her sarcophagus."

Thorin looked up at him. "Then why did you bring it to me instead?"

Again Balin looked to Nori. The Lord Inquisitor of Erebor gave him a pained look; Balin had hoped to find some measure of support in his countenance, but he understood why Nori could not give it. The news was too devastating.

"Balin?" Thorin pressed. "Why did you bring the locket to me instead of returning it to my sister?"

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to shore up his resolve, Balin looked to him with great sadness.

"Because your sister's body is missing."

 **-...-**

Thorin was too stunned to make an immediate response.

Missing? How in the name of the Maker could a body go _missing_ from the bloody Tomb of Kings?!

He must have spoken out loud, for Nori replied, "We do not know how it could have happened. Dís' crypt and several others were apparently robbed, most likely for the jewels and other treasure buried in them. Hers is not the only body missing."

Thorin rose to his feet and began to pace. "Missing," he said as his hand wrapped painfully tight around the locket. "And nothing has been discovered of her whereabouts, or the others'?"

"I am afraid not," Balin said. "All we could discern from the state of things in the tombs is that it happened quite some time ago, possibly not long after the princess was laid to rest."

"Guards have been posted at the only entrance ever since," Nori was quick to add. "We released the news that some dishonorable slug had robbed a few crypts, but not whose were disturbed or that anyone was missing."

"Missing?"

His blood ran cold as Thorin heard Kíli's voice. He turned to him slowly—no one had heard him come in.

"What's gone missing?" Kíli asked.

Nori stood casually. "We've just told your uncle some of what's gone on up north since you lot left Erebor behind a year ago," he said, then took a puff on his pipe. "Seems we've had slavers move through."

Kíli strode forward, the three wolves at his heels. "Slavers? _People_ have gone missing?"

"Aye, laddie," Balin said, the glance he shot Thorin telling him this was no fable to cover their arses. "Once every couple of weeks, a person would just… disappear. We've lost ten dwarves, including one of the nurses that took care of your dear mother. Twice that number of sons and daughters of Men have disappeared from Dale and—"

"What about Princess Tilda, is she safe?" the younger dwarf demanded. He then reddened at the cheeks and quickly added, "And Princess Sigrid and Queen Tauriel?"

Nori nodded. "Aye, and the little she-elf as well. Bard's doubled the guard on his girls and on the streets. The other villages have done the same. No one's been lost in about three months."

"Little she-elf?" queried Dwalin. "Did Bard and Tauriel have another wee one?"

Balin nodded. "Late in the evening, on the very day Dáin informed us about the resurrection. Her name is Túrelië, which in the convoluted language of the elves apparently means 'victory of the people'."

Kíli snorted. "Don't let Melindë hear you call Sindarin convoluted—she's rather fond of her Númenórean ancestry and the fact that she can not only speak Sindarin, but is learning to read and write it as well."

He walked over to join them all and plopped down into a chair, Thafar laying down across his boots as he pulled out his pipe. Despite the distressing news he'd just received, there was a part of Thorin that was relieved to see that the news of Tauriel having another child with Bard seemed to have little effect on the boy. Perhaps he really had gotten over the elf and was beginning to believe his One might still be out there.

"So how are you all combating the problem?" Kíli asked. "If it's been three months since anyone was taken, surely you're doing something right."

Nori and Balin glanced at each other and grinned. The former thief shook his head and began to chuckle.

"What is so funny?" Thorin asked.

"Aye, 'tis a serious question," Dwalin added.

"We do not deny the seriousness, brother," said Balin. "It's how the solution came about that's so amusing."

"And just how did that happen?" queried Larkspur as she petted Asrân's head.

Nori's chuckle became a deep belly laugh. Balin joined him for a moment, and then in between fits of mirth, he explained that a Ranger had come from the west with the intent of arresting Nori on more than two dozen counts of theft. After being convinced to let the unfortunate past remain where it was, the disappearances became a factor in creating a Ranger company in the east, which was comprised mostly of Men but which had been joined by a small number of dwarves and even a few elves.

"The Rangers of the East, as they are known, have been quite instrumental in curtailing bandit attacks on trade caravans to villages along the River Running, and also to Dorwinion and Rohan," Balin said.

"And just take a wild guess at who it was what tried to put me in the slam," Nori put in.

Kíli looked between him and Balin for a moment, then his eyes widened. "No way! Not Bronwë?"

Balin laughed again. "One and the same, laddie. Your good friend came to do her duty, and instead of taking Nori here to the west in chains, she's now commander of the Rangers of the East."

"And that's not all," Nori said, waving his pipe for emphasis.

"Good heavens," remarked Thorin sourly. "What other dire news could you possibly have to impart?"

"'Tis not dire, but it sure is funny to the bone," Nori replied. "Not only is our dear Bronwë now living in the east in charge of security on the trade routes, but she's gone and gotten herself married—to a dwarf!"

Kíli's eyes widened even further and he lurched forward in his chair. "Oh, that's fantastic, I'm so happy for her! What young lad was lucky enough to win her hand?"

"'Twas Gimli, of all the dwarrow," said Balin. "And what's so amusing about their falling in love, her turning out to be his One, is how very much they seemed to hate one another when they first met!"

Kíli, by this time, was laughing so hard he was clutching his side. "Oh no… That's not…the funniest part!" he managed. "I can't…can't wait to…to tell Fíli. Our cousin…who swore he'd never…never wed a female he'd have to stand…on a stool to kiss!"

Dwalin snorted, though he was also clearly amused. "Bronwë's not exactly tall for her kin, lad. She weren't much taller than me."

"But she's taller than Gimli—that's what's so funny about it!" Kíli retorted. "Oh, how I wish I could rub it in his face."

Sadness crept under the brevity Thorin had begun to feel on hearing the tale of Gimli's marriage to Bronwë—he was pleased for the both of them more than amused, of course—and as he watched Kíli and Nori and Balin talking, he began to wonder for the first time in a while whether he'd made the right decision.

Was keeping his nephews safe worth the loss of sharing the lives of their kin?

And who the devil would steal not only buried treasure from a bunch of crypts, but the bodies as well?


	60. Chapter 60

**Here we are - the big 6-0! Yay me, and thanks ever so much to every single person who has ever read this story. Sorry there was no chapter on Monday, I've been sick and have had little to no energy this week - missed two days of work, even. Anyhoo, thanks to Lady Sophia of Arda and AviorHyrax for favoriting/following, and of course special shout-outs to the reviewers of chapter 59: readpink, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, readergirl4985, Celebrisilweth, dojoson41, Guest186, Guest, ValarenOfGondor, Aashi, gginsc, and Guest! Y'all are, as always, awesome people.**

 **dojoson41 - Dís' body was stolen, along with several others.**

 **Guest186 - It _was_ a treat to see Balin's angry side, wasn't it? And he may be a bit shorter than Dwalin (at least in the movie he was), but I still think he could deck him. And I get that love scenes aren't everyone's cuppa. I try to keep them to a minimum and when I do write them I try to keep them tame and PG to PG-13. I am not offended if you skip the more detailed scenes if you stick around for the other parts of the story!**

 **Guest - What happened with Dís and the other stolen bodies will come out...eventually. ;) And yes, it is good to see more of the Company interacting again. Perhaps someday all of them, who knows? As for Gimli and Galadriel, he will still get the three locks of hair. His being married is, again, a story that my friend Daniella Blue was working on for the Forgotten Tales AU before she passed away. Because we talked about her character Bronwë having a recurring role in my stories, that is why I continue to mention her, including things Daniella planned to do with her. A few very well-written chapters from her story, _Entwined_ , can be found in my Glimpses collection. **

**Aashi - Bronwë has a small but significant role to play in events to come, besides being Aragorn's aunt and Gimli's wife. That's another reason that I continue to mention her in passing or feature her in cameos. And I am chuffed you liked the simple ceremony that Fee and Mel had for their wedding.**

 **Guest - Yep, Balin and Nori have finally arrived, lol. In-story, there is only a week until the wedding now. As for their names, you may recall (or want to go back and read) the first chapters after they arrived in Dwarrowvale. Thorin's name was recognized, but that was explained away as the names of famous kings being often used - not to mention he gave a false name for his father. It was also reasoned that Fíli and Kíli were less likely to be known than he was, so they could get away with giving their father's name. Also, there's the simple fact that Dwarrowvale's been out of regular contact with the dwarf kingdoms in the north and of the three, Thorin's the only one they've heard of by reputation. And as I said above, the bodies were stolen, but what for and why is not going to be revealed for a while. I'm glad you're always thirsting for more!**

* * *

 **60\. Who I Am**

"I'm tired of looking 'round rooms wondering what I've got to do or who I'm supposed to be."

~ Gavin DeGraw, _I Don't Want to Be_

* * *

With the getaway cottage finished, Thorin had only the honor room to work on.

It, too, was near completion, requiring only one more coat of paint on the walls and the few pieces of furniture he'd commissioned to be brought in. With the wedding in just another week, it would be done in plenty of time but he was eager to see it finished, for it meant he was one step closer to being married.

The day after their arrival, Balin and Nori had been roped into helping finish the honor room along with Kíli. Dwalin had said he had a project of his own he wanted to work on and so had named Nori his stand-in. Kíli was only mildly offended that he was not being trusted to do the job of guarding Thorin on his own, but because he had Nori to joke around with, he let it slide. Fíli was back at work in the woodshop as he had been for the last month, and the ladies of the family were with their friends doing…whatever it was that females did all day when they weren't taking care of the males. "Preparing for our children," Larkspur had called it, but which Nori had said was most likely eating and gossiping.

With the final coat of cream-colored paint now applied, the four dwarves decided a break was in order. Balin turned to Thorin and said, "I must say… I am proud of you, laddie."

Thorin chuckled. "Proud of me? Whatever for?"

Balin gestured to the room around them. "This. That lovely cottage you showed us this morning. Your determination to ensure that your One receives her due. You're not doing any of this because you will get to wear a crown again—you're doing it all for her. I am proud of how much you have changed for the better, that your motivations are not self-serving. Everything you have done from the moment you awoke in your new life was for the betterment of others."

Thorin, who was older than he by seventeen years but appeared much younger because his own hair had whitened prematurely, colored at the cheek even as he smiled.

"Your words of praise honor me, _Iraknadad_. Thank you," he said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing his head.

After clapping him on the shoulder, Balin then volunteered to go in search of Léof to have some food and drink brought to them, and stepped out into the hall as the others drew out their pipes for a smoke.

He froze on seeing Princess Rejna and her bodyguard walking with someone he suddenly wished he had not forgotten. Hurrying back inside the project room, he all but slammed the door behind him, drawing the attention of the others.

"Oi, what happened to going after some food?" Kíli asked.

Balin ignored him and marched over to Thorin. "Lad, we may have a problem—a very serious problem."

Thorin frowned as the others sat straight to listen. "What kind of problem?" he asked.

"Four years ago, when Bofur, Ori, and I traveled with Bard on an expedition, we stopped in Minas Tirith. 'Twas there that I met your One for the first time," his cousin began.

"That's right," Nori put in. "My brother said something at the meeting where we learned you lot were alive about you, Balin, saying you thought she could be Thorin's One."

Balin flashed a grin. "Aye, I believed it then and it gladdens my heart I was not wrong, but that's not the point, exactly."

"Then what is? Clearly something troubles you," Thorin observed.

The shorter, rounder dwarf took a deep breath. "With the princess that day was the son of a dwarf I'd known in my youth—in Erebor, to be more specific. I was glad to hear his father had survived and even thrived after the exodus. I did not know until yesterday that the young dwarf I met was Rejna's personal bodyguard."

"And how is that a problem?" Kíli asked. "Árni's a capital fellow."

"The problem, laddie, is the boy's mother," Balin replied, eliciting a softly uttered curse from Nori as he understood what Balin was getting at. "It turns out that she is also a Longbeard from Erebor who fled the dragon's wrath. Now, that might not seem a great concern, except she's some years older than her mate. Arnór is my age and he barely remembered me so is not like to recognize Thorin, but Saia was—is—just four years younger than your uncle."

Thorin frowned again. "Saia… Why does that name sound so familiar? I feel as though I ought know her intimately."

"It's because you do, in a sense," said Nori. "When the caravan was preparing to set out from the mountain, 'tis when we discovered she and her husband were two of those heading south for the winter. Madam Saia and Master Arnór were eager to return because their son's mate had recently given birth to their first grandchild, and she'd had word that the princess had recently met her One as well. She was excited for Rejna because she had helped to raise Her Highness after her mother's untimely death, she told us...as she had cared for another princess long, long ago."

Thorin paced away as Nori's words sank in. Balin could imagine the virtual wheels of his mind turning as the knowledge of who Saia was slowly emerged from memory.

"Durin's beard… She was Dís' nursemaid as well!" he exclaimed softly. "Balin is right, she was—is—but four years my junior. If we meet she is sure to recognize me."

"I meant to bring it up last night, Thorin, but after we discussed the disappearances…" Balin said slowly, lifting a brow to indicate he truly meant that of Dís' body, "…well, what with that and the distraction of Gimli and Bronwë's wayward romance, I'm afraid it slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

Thorin started toward the door. "I should leave the palace until I figure out how to… Until I figure out what to do about this!"

"Thorin, no—she's in the hall now!" Balin called out, but his cousin had already thrown open the door.

And of course, passing by at that moment were Rejna, Árni, and Saia.

The elder of the two dams gasped and took a step backward. "It cannot be!"

" _Amad_ , are you all right?" Árni asked.

"It…it cannot be! We were told you died!" Saia said, her voice breathy with shock.

Balin, Nori, and Kíli quickly stepped out into the hall behind Thorin. "Come, my Lord. We have that appointment to keep," Balin said, giving his cousin a none-too-gentle push.

"Yes, of course," Thorin said. "Good day to you, Princess."

They started away but Rejna caught his arm. "Thorin, whatever's the matter? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"I was about to say the same of my mother," said Árni.

"Thorin! It _is_ you!" Saia cried. She walked past the princess to stand before him, and after a moment of studying his face, she dropped to one knee.

"My Prince, I am humbled to be in your presence, for surely it is the work of Mahal that you stand before me."

Balin barely refrained from snorting as he thought, _You have no idea_.

"We really should go, my Lord," Nori urged. "You do not want to be late."

As though snapping out of a trance, Thorin nodded wordlessly and the four of them quickly walked away, leaving a stunned Rejna, Árni, and Saia in their wake.

"I… I don't understand," said Árni's mother as she stood, the three watching as the four males rounded a corner and turned out of sight. She looked to her son. "They said he died—that he and his nephews died on the battlefield. How can he be here?"

"Mother, please… I'm concerned for you," Árni said as he took her by the shoulders. "What _are_ you going on about?"

Saia looked to the princess. "You called him Thorin. What was his father's name?"

Rejna frowned. "He gave his father's name as Targo."

The older dam was shaking her head vehemently, the braids in her beard and hair whipping about her face. "No. No, that's not right. That's not right! I know my prince! I _know_ that's not right, I just… I don't understand. How can he be here?"

" _Irak'amad_ , please," said Rejna. "Just who do you think my One to be?"

Saia looked at her as though confused. "You mean you really don't know? Your Highness, in seven days' time you will marry Thorin Oakenshield."

 **-...-**

"This is bad, Thorin," Kíli said as he paced behind the sofa in their sitting room. "She definitely recognized you."

"Clearly," Thorin replied sardonically, then he looked to Nori. "Have you any idea where Dwalin is?"

Nori blew out a lungful of smoke before he replied. "He said he was going to add some finishing touches to your cottage, that's all I know."

Thorin frowned. "We finished the cottage two weeks ago, what the _razâd_ else could he be doing?" he said, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter right now. I need you to go and fetch him. Kíli, go and get your brother—"

At that moment, the apartment door opened. The three wolf pups bounded in ahead of Melindë, Larkspur, and Fíli. The newcomers took one look at the dark expressions of their kinsmen and shut the door without a word.

"What happened?" Fíli asked. "Did Hagen or one of his fecking minions try to kill you again?"

"If only it were that simple," his brother muttered.

Balin quickly filled him in as Nori slipped out the door to go after Dwalin. Thorin knew that the former thief would fill the warrior in on the way back, saving them from having to repeat the story a third time.

"So what are we going to do?" Fíli asked. "You said she recognized you in front of Rejna."

Thorin drew a ragged breath. "I imagine I've no choice now but to come forward," he said. "But how the devil do I explain myself? How can I convince them it was not my intent to deceive them, but to protect you and your brother?"

"Forgive me for intruding," Melindë began, "but I do nae understand what's going on."

" _Kakhf_ ," Fíli muttered, and Thorin realized they'd never explained to Melindë who they really were. His nephew began to tell the tale to his wife and had just reached the end of it when Nori returned with Dwalin.

"So yer tellin' me that yer a prince?" the Dúnadan asked.

"Well, I was," Fíli said. "I suppose I'm not anymore, what with giving up my claim to the throne."

"And ye died but were reborn because yer Maker asked Ilúvatar ta return ye ta Middle-earth?" she pressed.

"That's right," her husband replied.

Melindë blinked, then stood and backed away. "Then what the bloody hell are ya doin' with the likes o' me? One who is blessed by the Valar can surely do better than a fisher's daughter!"

Thorin could see the pain her words caused Fíli, and he understood it. They'd believed her confidence in herself was improving, that she was perhaps close to saying she loved him. Could it be they were wrong?

Fíli hurriedly stood and stepped up to her. " _Ibriz_ , I don't _want_ anyone else!" he said fiercely as he took her hands in his. "Melindë, when are you going to accept the fact that I love you for who you are? I could not love another female more than I love you—and Mahal knew that. That is why he chose you for me, because I need you as much as you need me."

"Mahal does not make mistakes, _Iraknâtha_ ," Thorin added. "A prince can love a fisher's daughter as easily as he could love a princess. It matters not your origin when it is meant to be."

Melindë still looked as though she was not entirely sure she should believe him, but before she or anyone else could speak again, there was a firm knock at the door. Larkspur, who stood nearest to it, turned and opened it, revealing Hakon and Dag standing on the other side.

"My Lord Thorin," said Hakon. "His Majesty King Ragin requests you attend him in the throne room at once."

"Did he give a reason as to why I am summoned?" Thorin asked, though he was sure he already knew.

"No, my Lord. We were only told to fetch you and bring you to him straight away."

Thorin nodded. "Kíli, Dwalin," he said, calling to his guardians.

"We'll come with you, laddie," Balin said, stepping forward.

"No, Balin. That is not necessary."

Balin raised his bushy eyebrows. "Are you certain?"

With a sigh, he nodded again. "Aye. We all know what is going to happen. Your brother and Kíli are witness enough."

"We'll be here when you return, Uncle," said Fíli.

Thorin acknowledged his words and stepped out the door, Kíli and Dwalin on his heels. Dag and Hakon turned about and the five of them marched through the mountain in silence, entering the palace through the back door.

Nervousness buzzed through his veins the closer they got to the throne room, and when at last they stepped inside, Thorin was not much surprised to see—besides the king and Rejna—that their bodyguards were in attendance, as well as Lord Tryg and Lady Kari, Lord Eirik, Saia, and a dwarf he assumed was Árni's father.

He heard the doors shut behind him as he approached the throne, but his eyes now looked to Rejna. Her expression was, for the first time since he'd known her, unreadable. Whatever she was feeling, she was keeping it to herself.

Thorin flicked his eyes to her father. Ragin's features, though also inscrutable, bore a hint of curiosity as he watched their approach. At the bottom of the dais, he stopped and bowed his head.

"Your Majesty, I have come as requested. How may I serve you?"

"Tell me, Thorin, why do you bow before me?" Ragin asked.

Thorin's brows rose. "It is custom to bow before the king, is it not?"

The elder dwarrow stared for a moment before he hefted himself to his feet. "Then allow me to bestow upon you the same courtesy," Ragin said, before bowing his head as Thorin had done.

Every other dwarf in the room followed his example, and Thorin sighed. "Please, there is no need to stand on ceremony. I relinquished my claim to that kingship long ago."

"But why?" exclaimed Saia softly as she stepped forward from her place beside the throne. "My Prince, why? And how can you be here? The word was spread that you had perished in battle."

The smile he offered her was kind. "I did, madam—as did my nephews and many other dwarrow, men, and elves. In the Halls of Waiting our Maker came to see his fallen children, and when his gaze fell upon my sister-sons and me, he fell to his knees and wept. The High King of the Valar then appeared and said he had communed with Sulladad and learned that death on that day was not meant to be our fate."

Thorin went on to explain about the Necromancer's resurrection of Azog and how it had changed the fates of many. He spoke of how Mahal had begged for their return to life in order to thwart the Dark Lord's plans, and how the choice to remain in the Great Forge with their ancestors or to return to Middle-earth had been theirs.

"Choosing to return to life was not without consequence," he said. "We lost time, we lost kin. Kingship of Erebor was no longer mine to claim nor could it be taken by my elder nephew, who was my heir. The price was great but we paid it for the chance to get back the lives which were stolen from us."

"Why do you hide?"

Thorin lifted his gaze to Rejna at her question. The princess strode slowly forward, stepping down the dais as she went on. "What purpose is served by your concealing your identity like a coward hides from his fear?"

He'd once told Kíli he did not care if he was labeled a coward, but to hear his One address him so was painful. It triggered his defensive hackles and he took a step toward her.

"Coward?" he seethed. "I gave up literally _everything_ for my people, Princess, and you dare label me a coward? What else am I to do but hide when evil haunts my every step? When the very darkness which took us before remains a plague on these lands? My sister's children were all I had left, for she was taken from us even as our lives were given back to us."

"My Lord, why did you not tell us who you were?" spoke up Lord Tryg. "Three moons ago, during the first council meeting you attended, it was suggested that Durin's Heir might be able to bring Lord Hagen to heel. Why did you not speak up then?"

"I nearly did," Thorin replied as he looked up at the Valley lord. "In fact, many times have I wished to throw off the cloak of secrecy I had wrapped around myself. But though that meeting might have seemed an opportune moment, I was unsure as to how the news would be received.

"It was not as easy to walk away as it may seem. So many years I spent fighting to keep my people together, to keep them clothed and fed and sheltered. I endured the snobbery of elves and the disdain of men and the loss of many dwarrow lives before at last I took back what was ours."

Thorin paused for breath, and allowed his gaze to roam over the faces that stood before him before he brought it once more to Rejna's scrutinizing stare.

"And I Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, would gladly die a thousand deaths and tell a thousand lies to ensure that the only kin I have left are allowed to _live_. Would you do the same?"

There was a moment of silence following his softly spoken declaration. Thorin realized he felt at last as though he could breathe freely, for it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Why are you here?" Ragin asked. "Even giving up your kingship you might have stayed in Erebor."

Lifting his eyes to the king, Thorin shook his head. "No, my Lord, I could not. Mahal told me that we would be targets for the Deceiver's assassins if we remained there. Had I only myself to be concerned for I would have stayed and faced whatever danger they presented, but as I have said, the lives of my sister-sons are vastly more important to me. And I came to these lands not by random choice, but because our Maker told me I would find my new destiny where the peaks are always white."

He looked again to Rejna. "I came to the White Mountains and I found you," he said. "I found my heart's greatest wish. 'Twas not gold or jewels, it was not a crown—it was love."

Rejna blinked. "I… I do not know what to say. I do not know what to think or how I should feel. I know only that I am hurt and I am confused and…"

She took a step back from him. "And I need time. Excuse me."

Turning on her heel, she marched back toward the throne, veering off to the side and heading for a door that was partially concealed by a tapestry. Árni followed immediately and Thorin watched them go, the weight that had left him when he'd spoken his true lineage aloud now settling heavy in his heart.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _Irak'amad_ – Aunt (a title Rejna bestowed on Saia to honor her for being the one who helped raise her in her mother's place)

 _Iraknâtha_ – Niece


	61. Chapter 61

**My Muse is slowly coming back around, but because she's being slow, looks like only one update a week for a while. Sorry about that!**

 **Thanks of course go out to all my awesome readers, especially my reviewers: gginsc, readpink, LoveMeSomeFili, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, yshxf, ValarenOfGondor, Rogue Lion, dojoson41, Guest, Guest 186, and Guest! Thanks also to Ellegon for clicking that favorite button!**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - Don't you worry about a thing. ;)**

 **Rogue Lion - The answers to your questions will be revealed in time. :)**

 **dojoson41 - Rejna's a smart cookie, I promise.**

 **Guest - It probably wasn't meant to happen this way, but Thorin knew it was inevitable the truth would come out. The ladies will come around, don't you worry.**

 **Guest186 - I'm a little proud of him myself. Like I said, he knew the truth would have to come out eventually, and frankly he's glad it has. He doesn't have to lie anymore, at least not to the people who matter most. Saia I imagine to be one of those dams who is very, very loyal. She might have been tucked away in Dwarrowvale since sometime after the exodus, but she's never forgotten the first royal family she served. Mel's coming around, I assure you, and as for Tilda, she's still a bit too young. Couple more years (in-story) and things will be different.**

 **Guest - Hagen has a number of plans in place. None of them are good.**

* * *

 **61\. Making Up**

* * *

"What will you do now, my Lord?"

Kíli's voice seemed far away, though his nephew had come to stand beside him as he spoke. "Would you have us declare ourselves?"

Ragin stepped down the dais and came to a stop where his daughter had stood moments ago. Thorin held his gaze, and breathed a sigh of relief as the king shook his head.

"Nay, I will not. As a parent myself, I can understand the fierce desire to see those you have reared remain safe," he said. "And though I admit there is a part of me which longs to see the expression on Hagen's face should he learn the truth, what good would it truly do to tell him? I suspect your uncle is right, he will not bow before Durin's Heir."

"Agreed, Your Majesty," said Eirik. "I do not think that he will care—he already does not believe he is cousin to Dáin."

"Hagen believes Rejna and I have declared we are each other's One falsely simply because she does not desire marriage to Halvar," Thorin said. "What little respect he may have for the Line of Durin would lead him to declare my claim to be blasphemy."

"And a blasphemer is unfit to marry a princess," Dwalin put in. "At this point, declaring the truth openly would do more harm than good."

"But I do not understand," said Arnór, speaking up for the first time. "If you are truly the Prince of Erebor I recall vaguely from my youth, how can Lord Hagen deny it?"

"Because, Master Arnór, according to history Thorin Oakenshield died five years ago," offered Kari.

"But he is blessed by the Maker! By Sulladad himself!" cried Saia.

"And who will believe me?" Thorin countered. "No dwarf in history has ever been reborn in Middle-earth before. Our people are supposed to remain in service to Mahal in the Great Forge until the ending of the world many ages from now. Of all the dwarves who have passed before us, why suddenly are my nephews and I so special? Besides the reasons I have already given, that is another which has kept me silent: Dwarves do not much like change. No one will believe us. They will think we have been as cowards hiding in the shadows all this time."

"We believe you," said Saia. She stepped closer. "I knew your face the moment I laid eyes upon it. Though many years have passed, and there are lines which were not there when last I saw you, I knew your face. I could not forget the prince whom all of Erebor adored. I looked forward to the day you would be crowned King, and I am overjoyed beyond words I shall still get to witness the blessed event, though it is a different kingdom you will rule."

Thorin snorted. "Only if Her Highness will still have me, and her behavior casts doubt upon that. I cannot say as I blame her for feeling slighted, for I have concealed my true self from her for months."

He looked again to Ragin. "Forgive me, my Lord. I should have opened up to you, and to her, from the moment I accepted the Maker's will."

"And perhaps I should be angry," Ragin said. "But I cannot find it in me to be so. Mahal has deemed my daughter worthy of Durin's Heir—in that I am overjoyed, even if that truth must remain with those who are present in this room."

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the witnesses he had gathered, "And that is my word on the matter—as your king, I forbid any here speak to another of what we have learned today, until Lord Thorin deems it time for the truth to be known. It is his choice, as always it has been."

Ragin turned back to him. "I meant what I said before: I do understand why you chose silence. Though I would like to have had your confession sooner, I cannot find fault in your motivation. Our children are most precious to us, and even when they are grown they forever remain in our eyes the babes that when they were born we vowed to protect with our very lives. Your nephews may not be your sons by birth, but if you would give up all that was yours for them, then they are to you as any son of your blood."

"Indeed, my Lord," said Kíli. "My _adad_ fell in an orc raid when I was but a dwarfling of three years. I do not recall much of that time save for my mother's great sadness, and that my uncle stepped in to help raise my brother and me. Though I had chance to speak with my sire in the Great Forge, Thorin is the only father I know."

Thorin looked to Kíli and smiled, warmth blooming briefly beneath his breast at the declaration, then turned back to Ragin and asked, "Why do you believe us? Surely when Madam Saia came to you with what she thought to be true, it must have seemed preposterous."

Ragin drew a breath. "I have known Saia for many years. She would not lie to me, for we were friends long before I was her king—it is why I chose her from all candidates to be surrogate mother to my daughter. And I do not believe you would lie to me. Already you have Rejna's heart, my son—what else could you hope to gain by making such a claim?"

"I… If I may, my Lords," Lady Kari said hesitantly as she stepped forward. "Were you truly before the Maker? Mahal truly wept for you?"

Thorin nodded as Kíli said solemnly, "He did, my Lady. And great was his anger when he learned of the Deceiver's interference in the will of Sulladad—the ground literally shook with the force of his rage."

" _That_ was the cause of the quake?" put in Jormun, who looked to his brother. "Do you remember Solveg? There was an earthquake in late November back in '41."

"You're right! I remember how Mother squealed in fright as though she'd seen a mouse when the ground trembled," Solveg replied. "That must be when…"

His voice trailed off and expressions of awe and wonder now faced Thorin and Kíli. If there had been any doubt as to the veracity of their story it was swept away by the tangible connection each of the dwarves before them had experienced.

Thorin loosed another sigh. Relief coursed through him that he no longer had to hide himself from the people he had come to trust, but there was still Hagen's designs on the crown to deal with—he wondered then if he should share with the king his suspicion that the Stiffbeard lord was after control of the mithril. But what of the connection to Sauron the Maker had spoken of? Should he try and discover it before he said anything?

He decided he would seek the advice of his kinsmen before presenting his concerns to Ragin. For now, he knew, he had a much bigger problem on his hands. This time, it was he who had done wrong, and he had the feeling that a simple "I'm sorry" would not be enough to assuage Rejna's hurt feelings.

As though sensing the turn in direction his thoughts had taken, Ragin said, "Go to her. Work it out, Thorin. I believe Rejna will come around."

Nodding wordlessly, Thorin turned to leave. He'd taken but a few steps when Saia called out to him.

"My Lord, Master Kíli," she said when he and his guardians turned back to face her. "I was so very sorry to hear of the passing of Princess Dís. I only helped care for her a few years when she was a child, but… I remember her as being strong-willed and assertive and… and she was a beautiful girl. I can only imagine how terribly you must miss her."

"I miss my mother every single day, madam," Kíli said.

Saia smiled. "You look much like her, save for your eyes," she said.

Thorin smiled. "Those he inherited from my own mother. And Fíli takes after his father, including the eyes."

The gray-haired dam smiled again. "I look forward to meeting him, as it would please me greatly to know the children of my princess. Long have I wondered how that sweet girl fared."

Dwalin snorted and tried to cover it up as a cough. Thorin looked to him with a raised eyebrow. "Forgive me, but 'sweet' is not a word I would have ever used to describe your sister."

With a laugh Thorin said, "Indeed not. As Madam Saia said, 'strong-willed' and 'assertive' are more apt descriptors, though they fall far from the mark."

He then cast a look to the others who remained standing behind the king. "Thank you all," he said. "For accepting the truth with grace, and for your discretion—I wish now I had confided in you sooner."

"I would not dwell long on that regret, my Lord," said Eirik, who glanced toward his son. "I know of no dwarf who does not put family first."

"Except Hagen, perhaps," Kari suggested.

Eirik shrugged. "Well, there _are_ exceptions to every rule."

Thorin grinned and after inclining his head once more toward the king, he and Kíli and Dwalin departed in search of Rejna. He paused in the hallway, knowing there were several places she would go when angry or upset. He decided to try the location closest to where they were first—her mother's study. He'd seen it only once but thankfully recalled the way, and indeed it was where they found Árni standing out in the hallway.

"My Lord," the captain greeted him with a bow of his head. "I… I am not supposed to admit you. I'm not even supposed to admit the king, though I certainly cannot disobey his orders."

"I've no desire to cause discord between you and Rejna, Captain, but I really must speak with her," Thorin said. "I have let this lie sit between us for too long as it is."

Árni studied him a moment and then nodded. He knocked three times then opened the door, standing aside so that Thorin could enter.

Rejna was standing at the single window with her arms crossed and her back to the door. Thorin waited until her heard the snick of the latch before he spoke. "Rejna, I am sorry."

"Partners," she said. Then slowly she turned around, and it tore at him to see that she'd been crying. "The Lady Yavanna chastised me for not treating you as an equal partner in our relationship. And maybe she was right, Thorin, but what of you? How fair was your treatment of me? All this time you have passed yourself off as a simple blacksmith, and now I don't even know if you _are_ a blacksmith!"

She scoffed and shook her head. "She told me, too. I do not know if she meant to let it slip, but the Maker's bride told me you were a king among dwarves. I did not question it, so wrapped up was I in my own guilt. And here you've been guilty of lying to me the entire time I have known you. This must be the secret you asked Dwalin to keep as well."

"I have lied to you—that is true. My father's name was not Targo, though he was a dwarf I knew well," Thorin said. "But I have not lied about everything. I am indeed a blacksmith, for there were times I had to work in the villages of men to support my family before we made our home in the Blue Mountains. When I told you I was born in Erebor—that I had a brother and a sister younger than I who had passed on—that was true. I did not tell you who I really am, that I had been born into royalty, because when I returned I gave up that life. I gave up my crown, my vast wealth, the mountain of my birth and what distant kin were left to me."

He crossed the room and came to a stop before her. "I have no mother. No father. No grandparents. I no longer have my brother or my sister. Cousins I may have aplenty, but Fíli and Kíli are all I have left of those who were closest to me. They are the last of the heirs of Durin and they are my life. Always will I endeavor to keep them safe."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "And what about me, Thorin? If I am truly your One, why am I not your life now? Why did you not trust me enough to tell me the truth about who you really are?"

Thorin reached for her, and when she backed away he growled softly. "Rejna, you _are_ my life now—for you I would do anything. Everything! Long have I wished to open up to you, and it seems a paltry excuse to say I could never seem to find the words or the right moment. But that is the truth. And if I am a coward as you now seem to believe, it is because I feared you would think me weak for attempting to escape the darkness that has long chased my bloodline. I fear now that you will return my beads and send me away because you will not want your children to suffer the fate of being born heirs of Durin."

His words, said without thinking, struck him as a blow to the chest. What a fool he was, Thorin thought sadly as he now took a step back. "You would be right to be afraid. Should Sauron learn my nephews and I are reborn, your sons and daughters would be as hunted as we are. I would do whatever is within my power to prevent you knowing the same fear that I do."

He turned toward the door, resigned to the fact that he had to let her go. It nearly broke him, those first few steps away from her. He had been foolish indeed to think that happiness was truly his to be had—he should have known it would never last.

"Now you wait just a damn minute, Thorin Oakenshield!"

Thorin paused, finding it strangely wonderful to be addressed by his true name even in anger—though he could not imagine what else there was to be said.

"You do not get to walk away from me. Not this time," Rejna said, and he heard her coming toward him.

Thorin sighed as she grabbed his arm to turn him round to face her. "You're going to stand here and let me be mad at you for keeping this secret. If I want to yell or if I want to say nothing at all and simply stare daggers at you, you're going to stand there and take it. Why? Because you are a son of Durin, and Durin's Folk do not flee from a fight—isn't that what you once told me?"

He blinked as she drew a breath and wiped at her face. Then her hard expression softened a fraction and she said, "I do not think you are a coward. You did what any father would do for his children—you made great sacrifices to ensure their safety. That tells me that when one day we have our own sons and daughters, you will do the same for them."

Thorin studied her face, her posture, not daring to hope. "And do you not fear your children will be hunted if the Deceiver learns they are mine?"

"A little, now that I know what happened to you and why," she admitted. "But you gave your life for your people, so I know you would give your life for our sons and our daughters, if we are blessed more than once. I'm just…"

She growled and stomped her foot, then fisted her hands on her hips. "I'm just so fecking _angry_ that you kept this monumental secret from me! I am your _One_ , Thorin. Of all the dwarves in this kingdom who do not share your blood, _I_ should have been the one you told. I should not have had to hear it from an old nursemaid!"

"You are right. You should have been the one I confided in before all others," he replied. "It's not that I do not trust you, _Amrâlimê_ , because I do. I am sorry that I have hurt you by keeping my identity a secret, and I hope that you never know the difficulty of keeping such a thing to yourself. It grows heavy on your heart each day that you say nothing even while you grow weary of carrying the burden. And you will want so much to just set free the truth, but you will not know how."

For a minute or so silence stretched between them, then she asked, "Was it truly difficult to give up your birthright?"

"When first we were reborn, I wondered who I was, if not the king. Was I still Durin's Heir? Was I still the dwarf who in desperation took in his hand a branch of oak to use as a shield, thus making a name for himself the whole of Middle-earth would come to know? For so long I had lived with the dream of returning to Erebor in my mind, becoming the king of my people, that I knew not how to live any other way."

Thorin smiled then. "Yet in living the life of a simple blacksmith—by choice, not by necessity as before—I came to realize how much I enjoyed my anonymity. How much I enjoyed the freedom of just being one of the people, able to come and go and do as I pleased. I am not the same dwarf I was before my death and I actually _like_ that."

He paused and heaved a sigh. "I have come to understand my heart more than I ever did. The truth is, it grieved me more to leave Erebor behind than it did passing the kingship to Dáin. Even more than reclaiming the crown... I just wanted to go home."

It dawned on Thorin that he had never said that to anyone before. Perhaps Rejna could see that in his expression; she lifted a hand to his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. He turned into her palm and brushed his lips across her warm skin, and then the inner demon that was the firestorm had him pulling her roughly to him as he slammed his mouth over hers.

Rejna might have been angry, but it did not stop her from responding to the kiss. She pulled at his hair as he backed her into the large wooden desk and laid her onto it. He tipped his hips forward, driving his hardened length into her thigh, and Rejna moaned.

Thorin trailed soft bites and kisses along her jaw, his weight braced on one arm as the other hand slid upward along her ribs to cup her breast. He pinched the nipple between his forefinger and thumb and she cried out softly.

"We can't… We shouldn't… Oh, Mahal I want to…" she whispered hoarsely.

He moved back up to capture her lips, and then with a growl he released her, stepping back several paces to try and slow his racing heart.

"One week, Princess," he said.

Rejna straightened slowly, her head bobbing as she fought to steady her breathing. "Aye, one week. We've waited this long, seven more days should not be too difficult."

Thorin chuckled. "Were it not for that bastard Hagen and his ambition to steal the throne, I would have taken you weeks ago. I'm quite certain we could have convinced your father to alter the marriage laws if you had conceived."

Drawing a deep, ragged breath, he turned and headed for the door. As he took the knob in hand, he cast a glance over his shoulder, quite satisfied to still see raw need shining in her eyes. "I would get as much rest as you can over the next week, Princess, for you will get none for most of our shut-in."

Rejna grinned. "Neither will you, Thorin. Remember that, _Amrâlumê_."

He smiled and nodded his head before exiting the queen's study. The three bodyguards were wisely braced against the wall opposite.

"Somebody was kissed thoroughly," Dwalin muttered. "Guess you made up."

"Lord Commander, please!" cried Árni. "You speak of our princess!"

Thorin attempted a scowl. "Indeed, Dwalin. Such commentary regarding the crown princess is highly inappropriate. Do not speculate on my interpersonal relations, or I shall make a few observations as to yours."

Dwalin shrugged. "Go right ahead. Larkspur and I satisfy each other quite nicely in that department, I will have you know. But you're right, we should keep such talk to ourselves. Virgin ears, and all," he said, jerking his thumb at Kíli.

Kíli scowled. "Oi! Parts of me may be virginal, but my ears are not!"

Árni, Thorin noted, was now attempting not to laugh. "If that's true, it may actually be a good idea to have a few 'interpersonal' conversations with the lad, so that when he is as blessed as we three, he'll know what to do when it comes to the bedding!"

"All right, yuck it up you arseholes," muttered Kíli as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Thorin laughed, then said, "Come along, you two. We should go and tell the others all is well and then find some food. We did miss lunch, after all."

"Mayhaps we should find you a tub first, Thorin. You look like you could use a cold bath," Dwalin said as they started down the hall.

"Bite me, Dwalin," Thorin retorted.

"No thanks, that be Rejna's job. Just make sure she knows not to bite down when she's got yer cock in her—"

"Lord Commander!" Árni yelled from behind them.

Thorin smacked his cousin upside the back of his half-bald head, which did nothing to quell the laughing warrior's mirth.


	62. Chapter 62

**First things first: I am extremely sorry that this chapter is so late. I'm also extremely sorry to say that I don't know when the next one will be posted—I've got it started, but it isn't complete. There's a good reason for it, so do not fear that I'm going to abandon this story because that is most definitely NOT the case. It's just that I'm an independently published author and it's literally been _years_ since I've written anything I can sell. In the first or second week of this month one of my many ideas for books began _screaming_ to be written, and given it's been over two years since I've written professionally... I have to go where my Muse takes me. I hope very much that you will all understand and wish me some luck with the book I'm working on. Thorin and the boys will have me back at their beck and call as soon as I feel like I can take a break, you have my word on that.**

 **Thanks, as always, to all my wonderful readers, and especially to those of you who took a few moments to leave me a reviewe: Readpink, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Robinbird79, readergirl4985, Guest, Aashi, thewolf74, and Cupcake! You all rock!**

 **Guest - In my version of Middle-earth, dwarf females carry ten months (common in fanfic, I believe)—perfectly enabling them to deliver a child within the first year of marriage. Actually, so as long as she delivers a son on or before the 1-year anniversary of the wedding the law is satisfied. Hagen wouldn't be, but the law would. And Dwalin so deserved that smack upside his head. He shouldn't be talking that kind of talk about Rejna _or_ Thorin. Or anyone, really. Dwarves can be so vulgar...**

 **Aashi - Yep, Dwalin deserved it. And it was definitely a good thing that Thorin not only acknowledged he was wrong, but apologized for it. And I already know exactly how many children he and Rejna will have. I know how many all of them will have. :)**

 **Cupcake - I'm updating now, lol. Hopefully it won't be too long before I have a break in my pro writing and can get the next chapter out.**

 **Emina - I am hoping one day you will read this message. It saddens me that your family felt they had to take Daniella's stories down. I'm sad that I won't get to read them anymore, as I loved to go back and read them over again. I'm so very sorry that the words of a surely small number of people hurt your family. People can be so stupidly cruel. I want you to know that I and many others absolutely disagree with those people. Your sister was a gifted writer. I will miss her words as much as I still miss her.**

* * *

 **62\. Let Any with Just Reason**

"…that these two should not be joined speak now, or forever hold their peace."

* * *

Rejna hissed a she stepped into bathwater that was a little too hot.

She settled back in the tub gingerly, knowing the heat would relax her body as the scented oils Telka had poured into it were supposed to help relax her mind.

As if that were possible. She was simply too wound up for true relaxation—for in just a few more hours, she would be married.

Thankfully she was not nervous, not even for the bedding. She was too excited that the day had _finally_ arrived. For a dam that had once dreaded marriage and what it would mean for her, Rejna could appreciate the irony of her looking forward to being a wife.

And who wouldn't when the groom was Thorin Oakenshield? Even closed off from the northern kingdoms for much of the last fifteen centuries, they had heard of him in Dwarrowvale. Stories of how he had battled the elements and other hardships to cross Middle-earth and forge a new home for his people in the Blue Mountains. Tales of his prowess in battle, whispers of awe that his use of a simple branch of wood in place of a shield had saved his life, earning him his well known cognomen. Even men who had a disdain for dwarves had tipped their proverbial hats in respect for that feat.

Beyond his history, there was the dwarf himself. Among the tallest of their kind, he was thickly built as were most dwarves but his musculature was well defined. He fell on the lighter side of hirsute, the hair that dusted his limbs (what she'd seen of them) not as thick as a blanket, though that which spanned his chest was a thin pelt. Perhaps it was the influence of the Edain males in their society, but she'd never been attracted to any male that looked like he was wearing a sweater with his shirt _off_. The hair that crowned Thorin's head was long and black with only a few streaks of gray, and the beard he'd cut short out of respect for the suffering of his people was growing out again. His hands were calloused from years of hard labor, and while she knew they could wield a sword or axe with deadly accuracy, with her they had always been gentle.

And that face… Carved from granite it was, with lips she ached to kiss, a sharply angled nose, and piercing blue eyes that had seen so much—more than she could possibly imagine. More importantly, beneath the handsome visage was an incredible intellect, for he was a deep thinker as much as he was quick-witted. Thorin was deeply loyal and compassionate—during their tours of the kingdom, visiting shops and schools and homes, he had shown genuine interest and concern for the people. In years past, the survival of Erebor's people had been his greatest concern, and in the last twelve moons it had been the safety of his nephews. As much as she had burned for his keeping the truth from her, knowing it now she saw his behavior toward them with clearer eyes. Such a deep and abiding love for those boys he had, and she knew with absolute certainty that it would carry over, be stronger, for their children. For her.

Only when the water had grown cold did Rejna rise from the tub, donning a robe before stepping into her dressing room, where she was soon joined by her closest female friends, including Larkspur and Melindë. She rubbed lightly scented lotions into her skin to keep it soft and then Saia and Sindri were on her, fussing over her hair as they all talked of anything and everything, and traded more than a few ribald jokes about the marriage bed.

"I must say," Larkspur said at one point, "that though I am certain hobbit males more than satisfy their wives—after all, I'm one of eight and Papa's one of twelve—"

Saia turned to her with wide eyes and a disbelieving expression. "Good gracious, eight and twelve?!"

The hobbit grinned as she nodded her head. "Indeed so—my people very much enjoy large families. I know dwarves don't tend to have them with each other, but I've seen that the mixed families have an average of four or five, sometimes more. But as I was saying, though our males are well equipped, Dwalin has the largest I have ever seen. I wasn't sure I'd be able to take the whole thing, being so small as I am, and I was afraid it would hurt so much that I'd never want to lay with him again. I needn't have worried though, because he was quite patient and gentle with me that first time. And since we've had our own home, I've learned that he can be somewhat … aggressive … in the bedroom, but I've discovered I rather like it."

Rejna caught the shared grins of Saia and her _agnât'nâtha_ over her head in the mirror. "Dwarf males go full alpha in two places, my friend," said Sindri. "One is the battlefield, and the other the bedroom."

"How can ye like it?" Melindë asked. "Aren't ye afraid when he's like that? Should nae a fella be careful with his lady so she does nae get hurt?"

Larkspur reached over and took her hand, offering a reassuring smile as she said, "No, love, I am not afraid. Dwalin may appear frightful at times the way he scowls and carries on like an angry bear, but never has he given me cause to fear him. And I trust that he never will because I know he loves me. I've never been afraid to try new things—if I was I probably wouldn't be here, married to a dwarf and soon to have his child—and letting my husband have control of our lovemaking makes him happy. Knowing I've made him happy makes me happy. And if he does something I don't like, I know all I have to do is say so and he will stop what he's doing straight away."

"You've no reason at all to fear your mate will do you harm, dear," said Saia. "A dwarf would sooner cut off a limb than hurt his One."

Melindë's smile was tentative. She placed her free hand over her belly, her pregnancy just beginning to show. "That's what Her Highness and Larkspur told me. And I know Fíli will nae hurt me. I've ne'er felt safer than when I'm with 'im. I used ta think I'd be afraid o' sex, given what happened ta me before, but strangely enough I've ne'er been afraid ta give myself ta him. I _like_ being bedded by Fíli. And he's always been sweet ta me, makin' sure I am pleasured first, but…"

"But what, dear?" Sindri asked softly.

The Dúnadan bit her lip and looked down to her lap. "I've been thinkin' that he wants more. I do nae know what, but I fear I'm nae satisfyin' 'im. Surely a lion like my Fíli wants a lioness ta complete 'im, nae a simperin' mouse like me."

Rejna waved a hand to pause the dams working on her hair and turned to the girl. She reached for the hand Larkspur wasn't holding and gave it a gentle squeeze until Melindë looked up at her.

"You still don't understand Fíli's love for you, do you?" she asked. Melindë shook her head as tears welled in her eyes. "Sweetie, even if he wanted a fiery female before he met you, he doesn't care that you're not. He does not care that you're not a dwarf, or that you aren't wealthy in your own right—none of that matters to him. That you were chosen for him by the Maker is all he needs to tell him that you are _perfect_ for him in every way."

"But why me?" Melindë looked around at the dams in the room. She looked to Larkspur. "Why us? Why would yer creator not choose dams for dwarves?"

"If you want my honest opinion," said Saia, "I think he started choosing non-dwarrow males and females for our people because we need them. Because dwarves bear so few when we have young. More often than not we have only one child. Sometimes there are two, but no more than three—and they are almost always male. For too long, females have made up less than a third of the dwarrow population, leading to few marriages and our bloodlines growing thin. Our entire race will die out in an age or two if we do not embrace diversity. Dwarves both male and female with non-dwarf mates tend to have more than the average number of children, and since intermarriage was welcomed in Dwarrowvale, we have seen a steady increase in the number of females born."

She moved and sat beside Melindë, raising a hand to cup her cheek gently as a mother would do. "Mahal chose you for Fíli because you are perfect for him. Or maybe the Lady Yavanna chose Fíli for you because he's perfect for you. You may never understand why—it is likely Fíli doesn't quite understand, either—and the simple truth is that _why_ doesn't matter. Our Maker knew you would need each other in years to come, so he brought you together. He knew you would love each other. And oh, sweet girl, it is so clear to any who looks your way when you're together that Fíli loves you with all his heart."

A tear slid down each of Melindë's cheeks. "I know he does. Somehow, I know it. And it makes me feel so happy ta be so loved. But it's hard to let go o' wonderin' why. I spent so many years as the object o' crude jokes and crueler treatment that ta have someone just… _love_ me… I do nae even know what ta say ta 'im half the time, or what ta do."

"What you do, _bahûnaê_ , is you let him love you," Rejna said then. "The words will come in time, and if you truly worry you're not satisfying him in the marriage bed, then you need to talk to him about it. It might be difficult but it is necessary. If I've learned anything since meeting Thorin, it's that communicating with your partner is key."

"She's right about that, even if she's not going to be a married dam for another hour or so," said Sindri with a smile. "And you can talk to Fíli about anything that comes to mind, any concern you have. He'll _want_ you to tell him if something is bothering you or not working out to your satisfaction. Whether it be your sex life or the finances or if he's spending too much time at work—"

Rejna raised a quizzical brow at her friend. "So you think Árni's been spending too much time at work, do you? Giving him a two month break was not enough?"

Sindri laughed as she and Saia shot smiles at Melindë and then returned their attention to the princess' hair. "My husband has breakfast with me each morning and he is home every night to tuck our son into bed. Since your schedule has changed and you're phasing the military out of your life, I see him a lot more. Thus, I am quite satisfied."

Rejna sighed. "I wish I didn't have to give up the army. I knew that it was a condition of my joining that I would have to when I married, but… I have _loved_ being a soldier. Serving my king and country has been the proudest accomplishment of my life. The respect of my fellow soldiers is something I've worked hard to earn. Each time I moved up the ranks I knew it was because I had earned it, not because I'm the princess."

"Why do ye have ta give it up?" Melindë asked. "Why can ye nae do like that elf queen up north? Fíli told me about her… oh, what is her name?"

"Tauriel!" Larkspur said with a snap of her fingers. "I've heard this story!"

"I think I'd like to hear it too," Rejna said. "I've met Tauriel, but she wasn't a queen at the time—it was hers and Bard's second wedding, _and_ it was Durin's Day. The coronation was like, two years later. An invitation to attend was sent but I couldn't go because _Adad_ was ill. What does Queen Tauriel do that you think I could?"

Melindë cleared her throat, appearing suddenly nervous about speaking. "Well, Fee told me that Tauriel was hired ta train the men o' Lake-town ta fight after the battle what…what killed 'em…"

She paused, and Rejna shared a look with her that not even Larkspur could have fully understood. Dwalin had fought that day, but Thorin and Fíli—and Kíli—had _died_. If Mahal's pleas had not moved Sulladad to act, they would never have had the three dwarves in their lives—and neither Rejna nor Melindë would have their husbands.

"Anyway," said Larkspur, picking up the narrative. "It was apparently clear from the beginning that the Men up there wanted Bard—the one who actually killed Smaug—to be their king. His falling for Tauriel was entirely unexpected for both of them, and so when it came time for the coronation, they had to figure out exactly what her duties as queen would be. Because she'd been a warrior in her own right oh, near twenty times longer than he'd been alive, Tauriel wasn't about to just give it up."

"So they worked it out that she would continue ta train the city's soldiers, even as Queen," Melindë joined in again. "Fíli said she told 'im that she stands with the night watch three nights a week because elves require very little sleep, and she even rides out with their patrols on occasion to look in on the other villages that have grown up—Dale's apparently expanded quite a bit in the last few years."

Sindri snorted. "I'm sure many of those folk just want a chance at getting some of Erebor's legendary treasure."

Now it was Larkspur with Rejna shared a meaningful look, for Thorin had mentioned his kinsmen were bringing funds from his family's holdings. She hadn't understood at the time precisely what that meant.

Melindë likely didn't either, even though Fíli had convinced her to give up fishing. The woman hadn't the faintest clue that she was married to one of the richest males in Middle-earth. She knew she would be as well, if Thorin retained any rights at all the to the hoard his grandfather had amassed—for Erebor's treasure was, as Sindri had said, legendary.

But of greater worth to Rejna at the moment was the gem of a story she'd just been told. If Tauriel could continue to train Dale's army, why couldn't she? Molding a young dwarf into a sure, strong soldier was one of the most rewarding things she had learned to do as a general.

After another twenty or thirty minutes, Saia and Sindri were finished with their work. Rejna turned her head to each side to admire the elaborately piled curls and braids, the gemstones they'd woven in sparkling as they caught the light. Then her tiara was pinned firmly in place, and she was helped into her wedding gown, and before she knew it, it was time for the ceremony to begin.

 **-...-**

"Are you nervous, Uncle?"

Thorin snorted. "No, Fíli. I do not get nervous."

They stood in the throne room at the bottom of the dais waiting for the last of the few guests to arrive before the ceremony would begin. Today was his and Rejna's wedding day.

His wedding day. Never in his life had he imagined such a blessed event would be his to enjoy. And thankfully, because they had planned a private ceremony already with their closest friends and the council as witnesses, Thorin would get to hear King Ragin speak his father's name aloud—for everyone they had invited were those who knew his real identity. The only person who knew that had not been present in this very room a week ago when the truth had come out was Sindri. She was Rejna's closest female friend and there was simply no way she would not be attending the wedding.

So he had agreed with Árni that she needed to be told the truth ahead of time, and he and the princess had visited the captain and his wife in their chambers and told her over dinner a few nights past. She had stared for a moment, then looked to Rejna and said, "I knew there was something different about this one."

That was it. She took the news in stride like most everyone else had, which was a great relief to Thorin. No one treated him, or Fíli and Kíli, any different than they had before. This, he knew, was due in no small part to the fact that they didn't act or treat any of them any differently. Even Saia slipping a time or two and addressing him as "My Prince" in front of others could be explained as her knowing he was soon to be the princess' husband.

There had been only one other discussion as to whether or not he would go public with who he was. Thorin declared that since only those who really needed to know were now aware of the truth, he saw no need to go public unless it became necessary to declare his return to the world. He was quite happy with the relative peace he had been enjoying in this second life of his, and he had no desire to see it come to an end.

For now, only Hagen and his mysterious connection to Sauron remained an immediate threat, and the Eastfell lord had been strangely quiet the last several weeks. He had attended the regularly scheduled council meetings with Halvar but had spoken only of matters pertaining to his citizenry—no more was said of marriage between his son and the princess, and out of respect for that, the wedding was only ever discussed when he was not present.

Rejna expected some trick to come from him, and Thorin could not say he disagreed with her. After all, the ambitious dwarf had arranged two assassination attempts; his silence meant he had something up his sleeve, there was no doubt of that. What it could be was uncertain, though Thorin suspected his not having been invited to the ceremony itself would be seen as a personal slight. The princess had insisted he not be included, for fear that he would make his move then.

"Your uncle is merely excited for the wedding night," Dwalin quipped, pulling Thorin out of his reverie. "He and the princess are eager to sate the firestorm, I don't doubt."

Thorin frowned. Dwalin had been making crude jokes ever since the day his identity had been revealed, the kind of remarks he'd more have expected of Nori or Bofur rather than the stern warrior his friend was. Turning to him, he said, "One more word about my sex life and I will ship you back to Erebor with your brother."

"You wouldn't," Dwalin countered. "Larkspur is too far along to travel so far."

"Who said I would force her to go with you?" Thorin retorted as he crossed his arms. "Perhaps denying you that which you seem so eager for the princess and I to engage in will teach you a lesson about sticking your nose into another dwarf's bedroom."

Dwalin scowled and looked away, crossing his own arms over his massive chest. Satisfied that the threat had silenced him as intended, Thorin glanced over the small crowd of people just as the last two witnesses—Tryg and Kari—stepped through the doors. _At last_ , he mused, casting a glance over his shoulder as Hakon stepped through the door behind the tapestry that Rejna had escaped through last week. The young dwarrow returned a moment later, offering a nod and a smile to Thorin, who gestured for his kin to take their places.

Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli joined Larkspur, Melindë, Balin and Nori at the fore of the crowd, leaving him alone at the bottom of the dais. Moments later, Hakon pulled the tapestry aside as the door was opened from the other side. His father stepped through carrying a red velvet pillow trimmed with a thin gold rope and tassels. On it sat a silver-colored crown encrusted with gemstones that Thorin knew, having been told so by Ragin, was made of mithril. Once the vows were exchanged, it would be placed upon his head and he would then be Crown Prince of Dwarrowvale.

Behind Eirik came first Jormun, then King Ragin and Solveg—Ragin too carried something in his right hand—a long, thin strip of leather Thorin knew would be embroidered with runes for happiness, longevity, and fertility. Eirik came to a stop at the side of the throne and Ragin stopped before it; his bodyguards took a stance among the onlookers. Thorin felt his body tense as next Saia and then Sindri stepped through the door.

Rejna stepped through last, looking more gloriously beautiful than he could have imagined. Her gown was of a blue so pale it was nearly white; the open sleeves ended at her elbows. At her shoulders and around her waist were black and white diamonds and pearls sewn in swirling patterns, and the neckline dropped in a tantalizing v-shape halfway down her chest that revealed more of her stunning cleavage than he'd have liked other males to see. Her hair was pinned up in a complicated twist with many braids, dotted with gemstones and metal beads, and was topped by a stunning tiara that left no question as to her royalty.

Desire burned a torturous path through his veins, and by the gleam in her eye, Rejna was fully aware of the effect her ensemble was having on him. She would pay for it later, he told himself as she came to a stop beside him and they turned to face the king.

"Lords and Ladies, honored guests," Ragin began. "Marriage is a gift granted to the Khazad by our father Mahal and is sacred beyond measure. Within its bounds, male and female mingle together blood and flesh to create new life."

He stepped down the dais then and came to a stop before them. With his left hand, the king drew a dagger from the sheath at his waist. With the other, he reached for Rejna's right hand and with the tip of the blade nicked her palm, drawing forth a drop of blood.

"Do you Rejna, daughter of Helga, accept this dwarf as your lifelong mate? Do you swear loyalty and fidelity to him for all the days you will share?"

Thorin turned a smile to Rejna as she looked up at him; her own lips lifted at the corners as she replied, "I do."

Ragin then took Thorin's left hand in his and nicked his palm. "Do you Thorin, son of Thráin, accept this dwarf as your lifelong mate? Do you swear loyalty and fidelity to her for all the days you will share?"

His eyes had not left hers, and with emotion swelling beneath his breast, Thorin answered, "I do."

Ragin wiped the tip of the blade on Thorin's hand, slipped the dagger back into its sheath, then quickly laid their bleeding hands together. Thorin curled his fingers with Rejna's and tears began to fill her eyes as her father wrapped the ceremonial cord around their wrists.

"Rejna and Thorin, you were chosen for each other by the Maker, and now before Mahal and these witnesses you have taken your oaths. You now bleed together and are bound to one another for all time. _Mahal amnâdu muhula_."

The gathered people repeated the traditional blessing, as did the bride and groom. Thorin gave another smile to his love and a gentle squeeze to her hand before he turned his attention once more to her father. Ragin gestured behind him and Lord Eirik moved from his place beside the throne to stand beside the king. Thorin lowered himself to one knee as Ragin lifted the crown from the pillow.

"On this joyous occasion, our princess gains a husband… and Dwarrowvale gains a prince," said the king. "Beyond your vow to Her Highness as her mate, in taking her for your bride you acknowledge and accept the rights and responsibilities of an heir to the throne. Do you Thorin, son of Thráin, vow to uphold the laws of this land; to guide its people through times of plenty and poverty; to defend its people from threats without and within, so long as you draw the breath of life?"

Thorin held his gaze, felt Rejna squeeze his hand, and said, "Before Mahal and these witnesses, I so vow."

A hint of a smile touched the king's lips as he lowered the crown onto Thorin's head. He felt the weight of it settle on him, and then slowly he stood and looked to Rejna once more. A tear escaped down her right cheek and he lifted his free hand to brush it away.

Shouting was suddenly heard from out in the hall, causing all heads to turn. Ragin gestured to Solveg and Jormun and Thorin nodded to Dwalin and Kíli to follow as the king's guardians jogged toward the main door. Before they reached it, however, it burst open and in strode a very angry Lord Hagen, followed by a distressed-looking Halvar.

As one Thorin and Rejna turned to face him as he stomped through the crowd. "I demand you stop this farce of a wedding!" he cried as he approached.

"Lord Hagen, by what right do you interrupt the sanctity of this ceremony?" Ragin demanded.

"Your Majesty," Hagen spat. "My invitation, it seems, was lost—for I see that the rest of the council is present."

"An invitation that was not issued cannot be lost, Hagen," Rejna spat angrily.

Hagen narrowed his eyes at her. "Princess, I have taken to silence on this matter hoping that the sense of your good mother would prevail upon you, but it seems you inherited nothing of her."

Rejna surged forward only to be stopped by the fact that she was still tied to Thorin. "How _dare_ you speak of my mother—your Queen—in so disrespectful a manner!" the princess seethed.

"Say what you came to say, Lord Hagen, and then take your leave," Thorin spoke up, his own anger barely restrained.

Hagen ignored him, his attention still focused on Rejna. "You still have time to emulate your mother's intelligence, Princess. You have only to renounce the vow you have taken, since you have yet to consummate the marriage."

"Father, that is enough!"

Thorin looked to the younger dwarf as he stepped between his father and Rejna. "It is over. Her Highness is married to another. He wears the crown of Prince upon his brow already—why can you not accept that she and I are not meant to be?"

Halvar raised his hands to his hips as he shook his head. "This cannot go on, _Adad_. I'll not allow you to campaign against the princess in my name any longer. Mahal has made his choice for her and it is not me!"

Hagen grabbed his son by the shoulders. "You are only upset that she chose another dwarrow. Son, the crown this usurper wears can still be yours!"

"I don't want it!" Halvar cried. "For goodness' sake, _Adad_ , I don't want to marry Rejna—I don't even like females!"

A collective gasp sounded from the onlookers. Thorin cast his eyes to Rejna, who looked as though she were both worried for and proud of her longtime friend and comrade for finally speaking up. In truth, so was he—Halvar needed to stand his ground with his father or Hagen would run roughshod over him for his entire life.

Hagen's face darkened as a scowl came over it. "That is preposterous," he said slowly. "No son of mine would be _binnaith'afsal_. Mahal would not allow it."

Halvar laughed mirthlessly and held his arms wide. "Well then, perhaps he made a mistake with me, because I am. Always have been, always will—"

His sentence was cut off has Hagen's fist connected with his jaw. Dwalin, Kíli, Solveg and Jormun rushed forward as he moved to take another swing, grabbing hold of the now raging dwarf and pulling him away from his son as Ragin bellowed for more guards.

"You are _dead_ —dead to me, do you hear?! I will not forgive this betrayal, Halvar! You are no son of mine!" Hagen screamed.

The guards who had been standing at the door ran through the guests and took control of the Eastfell lord from Thorin and Ragin's guardians. The king stepped toward him and said, "Lock him in the cells for the evening. Perhaps tomorrow he will be of a more sound mind."

Hagen screamed curses and obscenities as he was dragged away. The guests were already murmuring by the time he was removed from the throne room, and it was with a countenance full of shame that Halvar turned his gaze to his sovereigns.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. Princess," he said, raising a hand to his now bleeding lip. "On my word of honor, I begged him not to come here, to accept what is and move on."

"Oh Halvar!" Rejna said softly, pulling Thorin with her as she stepped forward and embraced the other dwarf with her free arm. "You have nothing to be sorry for!"

"My daughter speaks the truth, General," said Ragin as she stepped back a heartbeat later. "You are not responsible for your father's misguided ideals."

"What will you do now?" Thorin asked. "Your father's words indicate you will no longer be welcome in his halls."

Halvar scoffed. "No doubt you are correct, Your Highness. I suppose I shall take my shame home, apologize to my mother, and pack my things. I have no problem taking up lodgings in the soldiers' barracks until I can secure more permanent housing."

"Nonsense," Rejna declared. "You will join my husband and me as we celebrate our marriage and Durin's Day. I will not take no for an answer."

A few light chuckles sounded from the guests. Ragin grinned from beside Rejna as Halvar looked to the husband in question. Thorin had to grin as well, and said, "Your Princess has issued a command, General. I think it would be most unwise to disobey her."

A laugh was Halvar's immediate answer, though he winced when doing so stretched his torn skin. "Then I suppose there is but one thing left to do," he said. "From the looks of things, you and Rejna have but one more step to take before we can begin those celebrations."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think that is?"

Rejna supplied the answer when she turned and reached up with her free hand to grab him at the neck. "Time for you to kiss the bride," she whispered.

A smile appeared again before Thorin happily did exactly as he was told.


	63. Chapter 63

**Surprise! Went to work on the book I've been writing when I suddenly got the urge to finish this chapter instead. So I did! :) Hope everyone will forgive me for taking so long to get a new chapter to you. Can't say when the next one will come, so please enjoy and I hope you'll continue to be patient with me. I'm not good at working on more than one project at a time, which is why one gets ignored in favor of another when I've got more than one fab idea in the works.**

 **Thanks be to all my wonderful readers, especially those of you who left me a review: Robinbird79, Guest, yshxf, Celebrisilweth, ValarenOfGondor, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readergirl4985, dojoson41, LoveMeSomeFili, djhay4, Aashi, and Julie. Y all rock my world with your encouraging remarks. Thanks also to new favoriters/followers tardisoftheshire, daneffew, UnicornSoulHunter, thewolf74, ferisca, eretriae, Kohanita, Rodo, lovinghimonly, Panfan86, I'mClueingForLooks, and Myrttt.**

 **Guest - Characters like Hagen are perfect for adding drama and intrigue to a story. And unfortunately, that little episode at the wedding is not the last we'll see of him.**

 **dojoson41 - You may yet get your wish, because there will come a time when Thorin decides he's had enough of hiding.**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - The wedding night will be smokin' indeed, but I am trying to keep this one at least PG13 (though I could certainly write the hot stuff!). I do happen to agree about wanting to feel the burh with Thorin, though, lol. And while I also agree Hagen deserves to rot in prison, it's not going to happen quite yet.**

 **Aashi - I am glad you liked the wedding scene so much. And thank you for the encouragement on my book.**

 **Julie - Your words are incredibly kind, thank you so much. I am absolutely chuffed you like this story so much. And thank you as well for the encouragement on my book. It is coming along quite nicely, but I guess I needed a break, so I came back to Middle-earth for a bit to get you all this chapter.**

* * *

 **63\. Mat'chal**

* * *

The wedding reception-Durin's Day celebration was in full swing.

Rejna and Thorin had been presented to the public by her father on the grand balcony. There they had unwound the binding ribbon and presented each other with their marriage beads, before each made a short speech and bid the people to eat, drink, and be merry.

Most everyone listened. Rejna soon became aware that Halvar had spoken to his mother about what his father had done. Greti was none too pleased with her husband for making a fool of himself, though sadly she agreed with her son that it was best he move his things out of their home before his father was released. She made it clear that she did not agree with her husband's disownment of him, having suspected for some decades her son's proclivities, but both were forced to acknowledge that Halvar moving out was the only way to keep the peace. After formally congratulating Rejna and Thorin on their marriage, she retired to Eastfell to begin packing for Halvar, whom she insisted remain at the party and "attempt to enjoy yourself, my son."

Halvar wasted no time in getting very drunk. Gunnar pledged to keep an eye on him, and as the first hour passed into the second, the princess spied the two soldiers at a table in a corner of the courtyard bent over their ales.

Her skin tingled as she felt warmth at her back, knowing it was Thorin. "It is about that time, wife," he whispered in her ear.

The warmth of his breath on the delicate skin of her ear sent pleasurable trembles down her spine. Rejna smiled as she said over her shoulder, "Are you ready to have your arse handed to you, husband?"

Thorin snorted derisively as she turned to face him. "You do not honestly believe you will defeat me?"

Her grin widened. "My love, I _am_ younger than you, which likely means I am faster," she said.

He smiled even as he shook his head. "My being nearly twice your age means not that I am slow, but that I have twice the amount of experience. Keep that in mind, Princess, that you are not too embarrassed when I win our duel."

"We shall see about that, Prince," Rejna countered, before lifting on her toes to brush her lips across his. She moved away from him quickly when he made to grab her and deepen the kiss, her grin widening at the growl that sounded behind her.

When Sindri caught sight of her heading toward the palace, her friend passed her son to her mother and joined her. In her chambers, Sindri hurried to remove the tiara and many superfluous jewels from Rejna's hair as the princes shimmied out of her wedding gown and into a battle dress she'd commissioned for just this occasion. Over top of the mid-thigh dress went a sheath of chainmail, and on her feet she donned her favorite knee-high boots. After grabbing her sword and flashing a grin at Sindri, the two dams headed back outside.

Her father, Eirik, Hakon, and Eirika's mate Kor were just declaring the _mat'chal_ when they reached the courtyard. _Perfect timing_ , Rejna thought, then shouted " _Halt!_ " in her native tongue.

The four men in her family looked toward her, confused. " _Nâtha_ , what is this?" her father asked, gesturing toward the sword she carried.

Rejna was not blind to the way Solveg, Jormun, and Árni's expressions lit up at her appearance. "It is simple, _Adad_ —I am declaring _mat'chal_ myself. When first he came to our kingdom, my new husband challenged me to a sparring match. I think it is long past time he made good on his word—and who better to prove himself against than me?"

The crowd of celebrators, which had begun to murmur when she had emerged from the castle in a different ensemble, began immediately to cheer and applaud. Rejna looked to Thorin, ready to flash a grin, but instead found her eyes widening as he was taking off the fine, royal blue leather tunic—trimmed with fur and silver buttons—that he had worn for their wedding ceremony.

"Do you think to distract me with near-nudity?" she quipped in order to quell the need that raged through her at the sight of his bare chest. Oh, how she couldn't wait to run her hands through the hair across his pecs... And the scars he bore from battles decades in the past. Each surely had a story, and were a testament to his will to survive.

Thorin's grin was salacious. "No more than you meant to distract me with that tantalizing gown you were wearing, my dear."

A circle formed around them as Dwalin passed Thorin his sword. The warrior whispered something in her groom's ear and he laughed.

"Rejna, don't go easy on him, but don't hurt the poor boy too seriously," her father said softly, a smile on his face.

She bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it, _Adad_ —I do still need him to sire a son, after all."

Her father moved off to the side to stand with the other males in her family. Rejna noted even as she and Thorin saluted with their swords that the crowd in the courtyard was growing. Word had somehow already spread about the match to the celebrations beyond the castle grounds, and she could only smile.

 _A bigger crowd to humiliate you by_ , she thought wickedly as she suddenly charged forward.

Thorin easily parried her overhead swing and countered it with one of his own. Rejna dodged his second swing and dropped low to thrust upward. He blocked and forced her blade up further, throwing her off balance and into a roll. As she rose to stand, she felt the sting of a slap against her backside, and knew she'd been struck with the flat of his blade.

She immediately spun round with a high kick that caught Thorin in the shoulder. He stumbled but used the momentum as he dropped low and turned, bringing his sword up in an arc that took more force to deflect than she had thought it would. He quickly followed the swing with a leg sweep and she dropped heavily onto her back.

Rejna rolled to her left as he moved to bring his sword down over her. She hopped to her feet just in time to deflect a thrust aimed at her midsection and followed her parry with an upward slice that forced him to take a couple steps back.

"Having fun yet, _Amrâlumê_?" she taunted him.

Thorin smiled. "I am enjoying our foreplay," he retorted.

The match continued much the same for over half an hour. Each would parry, thrust, or swing only to be deflected and forced to defend themselves against a fierce counter-attack. Though she kicked him a number of times to throw him off balance, Rejna noted that Thorin was not using the same tactic against her—but then, he didn't need to. Several times she was forced to roll to avoid a particularly vicious swing or was knocked on her arse because he used her own forward momentum against her. She could see admiration for her prowess and technique in his expression but also a gleam in his eye that clearly said "I'm better."

The crowd around them seemed to agree with him. Early in the match they were chanting her name or cheering for her when she managed to surprise him, but as the minutes passed, more and more she could hear shouts of "Thorin!" and "Show her who's the boss!" and other similar phrases. And being honest with herself, Rejna noted in the back of her mind that they were right— _he_ was right. Thorin was indeed the better fighter, having so many more decades of experience than she, but she was not about to just give up.

If she was going to go down, she was going down swinging.

Thorin parried a combination of right and left swings, and then in a somewhat desperate move Rejna thrust high. For the first time since the fight began she misjudged how close she was to him, for this time the edge of her blade neatly grazed his shoulder. Blood began to spill from the wound and she paused, guilt flooding her system.

"Thorin, I—"

He did not let her finish. Instead he grabbed her by the wrist of her sword hand and twisted—not too painfully, but enough that she could not hold onto her weapon. As it fell from her grasp Thorin spun her so that her back was to his chest, and he brought his own sword up so that the tip was below her chin.

"Do you yield, Princess?"

In reply, Rejna hooked his right leg with hers and pulled, throwing them both off balance. Even though the match was technically over, she smiled at having finally knocked him down. But Thorin, apparently, wasn't about to let her last-ditch move go unanswered, and as they slammed to the ground he expertly rolled them both so that she was pinned beneath him. One arm was caught beneath her and the other he grabbed and held over her head.

"I say again, do you yield?" he whispered in her ear.

Rejna released her breath in a frustrated huff. "I yield."

His warm breath caressed her ear again. "A little louder, if you please. I don't think they heard you."

"All right, I yield!" she yelled, and the crowd went wild with cheers and applause.

Thorin tilted his hips into her backside, letting her know just how much the match had excited him. Rejna growled, and a moment later he rose, leaping easily to his feet and holding out a hand to help her up. She took it and yelped as he yanked her up and against his body, his mouth claiming hers for a passionate kiss.

The noise of the cheering crowd increased. Rejna was nearly breathless when they parted, but was distracted by friends and family who came close to congratulate him on his win or to discuss both of their fighting techniques.

"A couple of times I thought you had him for sure, Princess!" Sindri said on her right.

Rejna laughed. "So did I, but apparently we were both wrong!"

Sindri glanced to where Thorin stood talking with Dwalin. "Oh, I don't know if that's entirely true. After all, you _do_ have him for all time."

Rejna grinned. "I most certainly do."

Fifteen minutes passed before their admirers dispersed enough that she was able to take a look at the wound she had given him. Much to her relief it wasn't deep and was already beginning to dry up. Still, she insisted on cleaning and bandaging it and forced Thorin to sit and let her take care of the cut.

"I am your wife now, it is my duty to tend you," she told him.

Thorin stilled her hands as she wiped away blood and dirt. "Say that again."

She frowned. "I am your wife now—"

He silenced her by putting a finger to her lips, even as a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "How I love hearing those words already," he said.

Rejna smiled. "How I love saying them."

He looked around. "Now that we have entertained the masses, do you think we might be able to sneak away?"

"Where exactly are we going to be spending our wedding week, anyway?" she asked. "I know you're to move into my chambers here in the palace, but I didn't see any of your things there when I went to change."

"That is because Léof has not moved them yet, though if he's any sort of steward, he has prepared our getaway already, no doubt with Telka's aid," Thorin replied.

"So where are we going then?"

He made no reply until she'd finished wrapping a bandage around his arm. "Come, let us make our excuses to your father, at least, and I will show you."

Thorin slipped his tunic back on but did not button it. He then took her by the hand and she allowed him to lead her to where her father stood talking with Eirik and Tryg.

"Ah, I take it you are ready to begin your private celebrations?" said the king as he caught sight of them.

Rejna felt a blush color her cheeks. " _Adad_ , please do not embarrass me so."

He laughed. "My dear, you are the one who mentioned needing Thorin to sire a son," he countered. "Besides, much as _I_ desire not to think on it, I know that there's not a dwarrow or man here who is not aware of what the two of you will be doing for much of the next week."

Beside her, Thorin grinned. "By your leave, Your Majesty, I do think it time the princess and I take our own. Enough hours of this evening have been spent celebrating our union—let now the rest of it be dedicated to celebrating Durin's Day."

The king studied his new son-by-marriage. "So shall it be. Go on now. We'll see you in a week."

Thorin looked to her and Rejna grinned up at him. Then in unison they both raised a hand over their hearts and bowed their heads to her father, before turning and heading toward the gate. Of course, they were stopped several times by this person or that, until Sindri, Saia, and Larkspur as well as Árni and Dwalin came to their aid and began turning people away and clearing a path. Once they had exited the gate, Rejna had expected the bodyguards to follow but they did not.

"My love, where are we going?" she asked again.

He lifted his left hand and pointed toward the woods some hundred or so yards ahead. "In there."

Rejna tried not to frown. "We're going to be camping out in the woods for our wedding week?"

"Not quite," Thorin replied. "Now cease your questions, _Amrâlimê_. Your curiosity will be satisfied soon enough."

Though her curiosity was foremost in her mind, Rejna was not unaware of the build-up of tension between them. Tonight, after waiting for two months for the arrival of his kinsmen, she and Thorin were married. Tonight, they would join their bodies to complete their union and sate the firestorm. She was both excited to make love to her husband and nervous at the same time. She had no real experience with a male, whereas he'd once had a lover for years. She worried whether or not she would please him, or if she would even enjoy the act of coupling.

The last thought she pushed away as soon as it had formed—how could she _not_ enjoy being bedded by Thorin? The heat and passion of their kisses, the way it felt to be thoroughly kissed by that dwarf, were the greatest of pleasures. And certainly Mahal would not have chosen them for each other if they would not enjoy each other.

As they entered the woods, she noted there were guards at the entrance of the path, which she could see was lit at intervals with lanterns. Thorin explained then that there were guards surrounding the whole of the woods, as they were off limits for the next week. After 20 or so feet, he paused and asked her if she trusted him.

"Of course I trust you," she replied.

Thorin smiled, then out of his pocket drew a long, wide strip of cloth. He moved behind her and placed it over her eyes.

Rejna grimaced as he was tying the blindfold. "Is this really necessary?"

"I wish you to be surprised, my love," he told her, placing a kiss on her cheek as he took her hand and began to lead her down the path again.

It was slightly disorienting to be walking along and not able to see where she was going, but Rejna did trust Thorin. He would never let her come to harm. Still, she kept a tight hold of his hand and prayed they would reach their destination soon.

Suddenly she felt herself pulled to a stop. Rejna sensed Thorin moving behind her, felt his hands reaching up to where he had tied the blindfold.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

She snorted. "They are already closed, you fool."

Thorin chuckled as he worked to remove the blindfold. When it was off Rejna sighed with relief.

Warm, strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was drawn against Thorin's hard chest. He placed his head next to hers over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "Now, _amrâlimê_ , open your eyes."

Rejna did as he instructed, and immediately gasped at what she saw. Before her, in the midst of a clearing, was a hobbit smial not unlike Dwalin and Larkspur's. The chimney smoked lightly and the windows were lit with candles. The round door was painted her favorite color: red.

"Oh, Thorin… Is this ours?" she asked, her voice breathless.

"It is indeed," he replied. "Come, let me show it to you."

He took her up to the door and took the key hanging on a ribbon from the knob, handing it to her. "This is our very own getaway cottage. Open the door."

Rejna slipped the key into the lock and turned it, then pushed the door open. She then gasped and laughed as Thorin suddenly picked her up and carried over the threshold, then kicked the door shut behind them. After kissing her soundly, he set her on her feet and took her through the house. It was splendid! Smaller than Dwalin and Larkspur's home as it lacked a library (though there were some books on shelves in the parlor) and had only two bedrooms, it was nevertheless absolutely perfect.

"Oh, Thorin, I love it!" she cried, spinning in a circle in the kitchen. "This is such a wonderful surprise."

"I am pleased you like it," he said with a smile.

A smile remained on her face as she turned again to survey the room they stood in. She paused, however, as she glanced out the window. "A pond! You dug a pond?!" she cried softly, and ran for the back door. She paused again on her way to the water's edge when she noted a table had been set up with a picnic basket in the middle with two candles lit on either side of it.

"The pond is not my doing," Thorin said as he stepped outside. "It must be the secret project Dwalin's been working on the last couple of weeks."

"We shall have to be sure and thank him when we return," Rejna said, then smiled wickedly as a thought came to her. Her nerves danced in her limbs, but still she pulled the chain mail shirt over her head and dropped it on the ground as she started toward the pond. She paused and pulled off her boots, dropping them with an exaggerated flourish, then started forward again as she reached for the hem of her battle dress.

She was nude by the time she reached the water's edge. "Come and join me, _amrâlumê_ ," she said over her shoulder as she stepped into the water, which was thankfully not cold.

The water was up to her waist when she heard Thorin striding into the pond behind her. Before she knew it he was wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, his lips on her neck. She could feel the evidence of his arousal against her backside. His hands roamed over her flat stomach before moving to cup her breasts, and feeling the heat of desire burn through her, she turned in his arms and captured his mouth with hers.

Thorin's arms tightened around her, then he took her arse in his hands and lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him. He took her there in the water, and her fears about pleasing him and enjoying the lovemaking were greatly relieved.


	64. Chapter 64

**LOOKIT! A NEW CHAPTER!**

 **So sorry it took me so long to get this one out to you. My Muse diverted to Georgian England for a while, and then the witch stopped cooperating altogether. Then we got some bad news in the family, and it's really been quite the struggle to get my head back in the game.**

 **For those of you who have stuck around waiting for something new, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am not giving up on this story or the world I have created, it's just going to take some time for me to really get back into it as enthusiastically as I was before. Thanks go out to every single one of you who are reading along, with a special shout-out to the reviewers of chapter 63: Robinbird79, readergirl4985, yshxf, thewolf74, Celebrisilweth, LoveMeSomeFili, ValarenOfGondor, ThatOtherWriterGirl, readpink, Aashi, and Julie. Thanks and welcome back to my world goes out to Sparky She-Demon, who is still in the early chapters.**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - Thorin wasn't wielding double swords, he was simply very clever with the one he had!**

 **Aashi - Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked it!**

 **Julie - I am completely chuffed at all your kind words. I'm so pleased you are enjoying the story so much!**

* * *

 **64\. Backlash**

* * *

It was their last night of "freedom", as Nori had jokingly called it, before Thorin and Rejna returned from their wedding week.

Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Nori, and Balin, along with Árni, Dag, and Gunnar, all went out together for drinks at the Iron Cauldron, a pub in the outer lands of Eastfell. Despite seeing a clearly drunk and despondent Halvar across the room (who was invited to join them, though he declined) a merry time was had by all, though the married of the group departed earlier than the others. As they were exiting the tavern, Dwalin cautioned Kíli about staying out too late or drinking too much, as they were to meet Thorin at the edge of the woods early in the morning.

It was then only about an hour or so later, after seeing Halvar stumble out the door, that the remainder of the group decided to call it a night. After paying the tab they headed for the exit, with Nori pausing to join in a raucous bar song that had begun. Balin had to grab him by the ear to get him to move along.

Outside they turned north toward the center mountain. As they neared the alley that led behind the Iron Cauldron, Kíli paused. A sound had pierced the slightly drunken haze fogging his brain and he turned to look down the alley.

The haze immediately cleared as he realized he was witness to an assault. Four or five figures—what looked to be three men and two dwarves—were all pummeling a figure that lay prostrate on the ground.

"Nori! Balin!" Kíli shouted as he took off at a sprint toward the attackers. Many pairs of footsteps sounded behind him as he ran.

Ahead, the ruffians halted their vicious assault at the sound of Kíli's voice. A few of them gave a last, mighty kick at their victim before they took off for the other end of the alley.

"We'll cut them off!" cried Dag as Kíli launched himself at the nearest fellow, a hefty Man with a thick middle. The two of them crashed to the ground, hard, and as he was raising himself up his opponent rolled beneath him and threw a surprisingly hard punch at his jaw. Kíli's head snapped to the side, but he was quick to return the favor. Grabbing the man by his tunic, he clocked him twice in quick succession, knocking the man out cold.

Nearby Nori had laid out another of the attackers, one of the two dwarves, while Balin and the other were engaged in a fistfight. A left hook by his white-haired cousin caused the dwarf he faced to stumble, giving Nori the opportunity to jump him from behind. The former thief wrapped his arm around the fiend's throat in a tight hold, in which he struggled briefly before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Nori dropped him like a sack of flour as Kíli rose and made his way to the prone figure he and his cohorts had been beating. He gasped when he rolled him over.

"Mahal's hammer, it's Halvar!"

Balin knelt on the other side of the Eastfell general and placed two fingers at the base of his throat. "He has a pulse, but it is very weak. We must get him to a healer."

"We also need to bind this lot," said Nori, "and fetch some soldiers."

"We're in Eastfell territory and his father's disowned him," Kíli reminded them. "Will we even get any help 'round here?"

Dag and Gunnar came into the alley then, dragging an unconscious man between them. They dropped him next to his cohorts, muttering angrily about how the fifth attacker had gotten away, and turned toward the dwarf on the ground. When recognition dawned, their expressions changed to equal levels of shock and anger.

Gunnar looked to Dag. "Head for the capital at once—go to the Hall of Medicine and prepare them to receive a patient. I'll alert the army to come for this lot."

He turned to encompass Kíli, Balin, and Nori in his gaze as Dag took off at a run. "You," he said, pointing at Nori, "stay here with this rabble until the soldiers arrive. Balin, Kíli, you get him up and head for the capital. Halvar's like to receive the best care in there."

Balin and Nori both looked to Kíli, their eyes giving indication that he was to take the lead. He gave a curt nod and Nori asked for everyone's belts that he could at least bind the hands of the attackers. After giving theirs up, Kíli moved to Halvar's head and Balin to his feet, and they struggled to lift the general's considerable bulk between them. Whence they had him raised, they began as quick a shuffle as they dared and headed north.

The going was slow. Halvar moaned several times but did not waken. Thankfully Dag proved to be quick on his feet, as when they were but a hundred yards from the east entrance he and a team of healers with a litter came running toward them.

Kíli and Balin helped load Halvar onto the stretcher when the group reached them. "Get him to the Hall of Medicine as quickly as you can and treat him in a private room," Kíli ordered the healers. "Dag, speak to the acting chief of security in the mountain and see to it that guards are posted at his door. I'll meet with King Ragin and inform him as to what's happened."

Knowing he was one of their new prince's guardians, the healers nodded their compliance and hurried with their charge toward the mountain. Dag hesitated a moment, asking, "Should I have guards sent into the woods?"

Kíli paused, thinking for a moment, before he said, "I want the guards around the woods doubled, but no one is to enter."

"Kíli, are you certain?" Balin asked. "Thorin and Rejna will certainly want to hear of this."

"I've no doubt, but tomorrow is soon enough—let us not spoil their last night of newly-wedded bliss with such news."

Balin sighed. "If you say so, laddie. But I warn you, Princess Rejna will not be pleased to have this kept from her."

Kíli nodded. "Aye. I have no doubt of that either, Bal. But I will bear the brunt of my new aunt's wrath alone. It is my decision to leave them in peace."

His older cousin nodded again, and the two of them headed for the palace with Dag at their side. The latter paused at the door to the palace to speak to the guards there while Kíli and Balin continued further inside. Given the hour, they knew that King Ragin was likely to be asleep in his chambers.

The supposition was confirmed when they arrived there, where the guards outside gave them the news that he had retired for the evening more than three hours before. Kíli acknowledged the report, but then said his news was of the utmost importance, that they were to inform His Majesty one of the crown prince's guardians had need to see him at once. The directive disturbed the two dwarves enough that after exchanging a look, the one to Kíli's right entered the king's rooms. It was some minutes later that he returned, holding the door open for them.

Kíli led Balin inside, then the guard exited and shut the door behind him. Ragin soon appeared, coming out of his bedchamber as he was tying the belt of a robe.

"What's happened, Captain?" he asked.

Blinking, as the title had not been used before, Kíli brushed his surprise aside and filled him in, with Balin putting a word in here and there as needed. Ragin's expression changed from merely curious to outraged.

"That anyone, man or dwarf, would _dare_ assault a general of the King's Army…" he seethed as he paced away from them. When he paused he spun back to ask, "You've not sent anyone into the woods for my daughter and your uncle, have you?"

"No, Your Majesty," Kíli replied. "I thought it best to increase the guard around the woods, but to leave them in peace the last night of their wedding week. A few more hours will not change the news."

"Unless Halvar succumbs to his injuries, Mahal forbid," Ragin said.

"My Lord, what will become of the assailants?" Balin queried.

Ragin looked to him. "If he survives, they will spend the rest of their lives in the dungeons or performing hard labor. If the worst should happen… Well, if so I fear I will have no recourse but to have them executed."

He started again toward his bedroom, then paused suddenly and whirled toward them. "Greti! Oh, Durin's beard, someone will have to tell his mother."

"I will see to it, my Lord, if that is your wish," Kíli said.

Ragin stared for a moment and then nodded. "Yes. Yes, that is a good idea lad. She'll recognize you."

"So will his father, I don't doubt," warned Balin.

The king groaned at that reminder. " _Ibnith_ , I'd near forgotten about that _lalkhûn_. The assault might have taken place in Eastfell's jurisdiction, but given Hagen's disownment of Halvar, I suspect punishment for the crime will fall to me. With Gunnar taking charge of them, he's like to bring them here anyway." He paused and drew a breath. "Captain, I do not doubt your ability to defend yourself, but just the same I would suggest taking a couple of soldiers along with you."

Kíli nodded. "I will, Your Majesty."

"On your way out, inform my guards I will be going to the Hall of Medicine to see to the general's care once I have dressed."

Acknowledging the king's order, Kíli and Balin departed. After relaying his message to the guards, Kíli told Balin he should go on to Dwalin and Larkspur's place and get to bed.

"No sense in all of us losing a whole night's sleep," he added. "I'm off to gather a couple of the guards and head to Eastfell Hall to collect Halvar's mother."

"Go and armor yourself first, laddie," Balin cautioned. "If even the king has warned you about traveling into the Stiffbeard's lair, it's best you protect yourself all the way."

"A fair point. See you in the morning, Bal."

Balin nodded on a sigh, and the two parted company.

 **-...-**

A lazy smile spread across Thorin's face as Rejna snuggled against him. The warmth of her supple body against his was a welcome heat. It had been many, many years since he had lain with a female, and to now be lying next to his _wife_ …

It was a dream he had never imagined would come true.

"Do we have to go back?" she asked in a soft drawl.

He chuckled as he drew her more firmly against his side. "I am afraid the choice is not ours to make," he replied. "We are expected to return by mid-afternoon."

"Sod the expectations. I say we take another week or two."

This time Thorin laughed fully. "As much pleasure as that would bring us both, Princess, we cannot delay the inevitable forever. Duty and responsibility regrettably call to us."

Before Rejna could respond, the door to their bedroom burst open and a blur of black leapt up onto the bed. Rejna squealed and Thorin laughed as Bahûna bathed each of their faces with her tongue. He had ordered her to remain in the mountain, to obey Kíli and Larkspur, but the command had only lasted two days. On her sudden appearance the third morning as he and the princess swam in the pond, he had been surprised, but recollection of the behavior Fíli had witnessed the night he had been attacked—and her constant nearness since—had led Thorin to understand that his wolf friend felt very strongly about his safety.

So Bahûna had been welcomed by him and Rejna, though he'd written a note and bade her carry it to Kíli so that his nephew would not worry. The wolf had not been long in returning. He had then made it clear that she was to remain before the fireplace in the parlor at night, so that he and his new bride would have privacy to love one another without a witness.

"All right, down you beast," Thorin growled softly, pushing her away after a minute or two. "I'll get up and let you out."

He looked to Rejna after Bahûna had hopped down from the bed with a yip. "Shall I make you one last breakfast, my dear?"

Rejna smiled. "I would like that very much. Thank you."

After giving her a thorough good-morning kiss, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and reached down for the trousers he had discarded there. Behind him came a whistle as he stood to draw them up, and so he looked over his shoulder with a lascivious smile before departing the bedroom.

He stretched his arms as he walked through the house and into the kitchen, where he let Bahûna out the back door before gathering supplies to make breakfast. Rejna had been surprised he could cook, though he had admitted what he could make was fairly limited. Thus it had become a routine for him to make breakfast for them both each morning. At lunchtime—when they weren't engaged in other pleasurable activities—the two of them had eaten sandwiches of cold meat or would reheat leftovers from dinner the night before. Rejna had been the dinner cook, and they would wash the dishes together.

Were it not for the royal duties awaiting them both back in the real world, he had thought more than once that the simplicity of such a life was more than satisfying.

He was nearly done with the food when Rejna finally emerged from the bedroom clad in her robe. She walked up behind him at the stove and wrapped her arms about his waist as she placed a kiss at his shoulder.

"I'm going to miss this," she said.

Thorin sighed. "As will I."

"I wonder if perhaps I should have the study in our suite converted into a small kitchen—the housing engineers in the city could do it easily enough," Rejna went on. "I know much will be required of us from the moment we return, Thorin, but I don't want to lose everything we've come to enjoy about our time together."

Thorin moved the hot skillet from the stove and snuffed the flame before turning in her arms to lift his hands to her shoulders. "We will not lose anything, _Amrâlimê_."

"I'm not naïve, my love," she countered. "A great deal of our time will be consumed from the moment we depart these woods with the duties and responsibilities you reminded me await us. But besides our lovemaking, I have most enjoyed these moments of our time here—when we do the simple, everyday things that everyone else does: cooking for each other, cleaning up together, reading to each other... And your harp! Oh, I shall miss your music."

Dipping his head to kiss her, he smiled when he lifted it again and said, "Dearest Rejna, you will not have to miss my music. Or our reading to each other. And I would be delighted to have the study made into a kitchen that we may cook for one another when the mood strikes, for I have enjoyed each of these things as well."

He then tilted his head as he studied her sullen expression. "You know, for a dam who once dreaded marriage, you sure have taken quite quickly to your first week of it."

Rejna smiled softly. "That is because being with you has taught me the joys of being a wife, of having someone to care for other than myself. Not only is it now my duty to care for you, _Amrâlumê_ , it is my greatest pleasure. Knowing that you once had sacrificed such happiness as we now share, it is a joy I cannot put into words to know it is within my power to give to you all that you had so deeply desired but thought forsaken to you. Above all other responsibilities, it is the one I now take most seriously."

She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. "I will do all I can to never see sorrow on this face."

Emotion rose within him that was nearly overwhelming. Thorin wrapped his arms around Rejna and kissed her deeply, and for a time breakfast was forgotten as he showed her with his body precisely how much her devotion meant to him.

It was not the first time they'd had to clean the dining table before eating on it.

The food was long cold by the time they sat to consume it, but neither one cared. Afterward they washed the dishes and headed out to the pond, where they swam and bathed before at last resigning themselves to the fact that their week of bliss had drawn to a close. Once they had dressed, Rejna tidied the bedroom and Thorin the parlor, neither wishing to leave a mess for their housekeeping staff to clean up later.

Rejna sighed heavily as he locked the door upon their exit; he looked to her as he tucked the key into his pocket.

"We will come back here every weekend," he said.

She snorted as she reached for his hand. "One weekend a month is more like, if we are even that fortunate."

He did not respond further than giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he laced their fingers together and started down the path. Bahûna trotted back and forth before them, stopping now and again to sniff this or that. As they were approaching a turn she suddenly stiffened, before going alert and racing off like an arrow.

"Bahûna, come back here!" Thorin called out.

"I wonder what's gotten into her," said Rejna.

The reason was soon made clear: As they rounded the bend themselves, the two took sight of their guardians heading toward them. Bahûna and Thafar ran around the group of four, which included not only Árni, Dwalin, and Kíli, but Dag as well.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were to meet at the edge of the woods?"

The four dwarves before them stopped and bowed. As they straightened, Dwalin looked to him and said, "Your Highnesses, we are come to escort you directly to the Hall of Medicine."

A look was exchanged between husband and wife before Rejna released his hand and took a step forward. "Has something happened to my father?"

Árni drew up next to Dwalin. "Nay, Princess, the king is well. It was Halvar."

"Halvar? What happened to the general?"

"Come, my Lady," spoke up Kíli. "I will explain on the way."

Alarm and anger spread through him as his nephew relayed the events of the night before. Rejna cursed at Kíli for not alerting them immediately, but Thorin silently thanked him—he would do so verbally when they had a moment alone—for giving them one more night free of worry before settling upon them this wretched news.

No time was wasted in marching through the mountain to the Hall of Medicine. The sight they presented had citizens scrambling out of their way—the news of the attack on Halvar must have already spread, Thorin mused. When at last they arrived the guards outside the door to the general's private suite—Solveg and Jormun, as well as Gunnar—bowed to them, with Gunnar hurriedly turning to open it.

They found a scene which made Rejna gasp with shock—even Thorin was stunned by how brutally Halvar had been wounded. What they could see of him, anyway, for much of his skin was covered by bandages. His mother, Lady Greti, sat beside her son on his left with his hand in hers and tears in her eyes, and King Ragin stood on the general's right.

Greti looked up upon their entrance and wobbled as she stood and bowed. "Your Highnesses. I… I am so sorry… that you return to such…"

A sob choked off her words and Rejna hurried to her side. She wrapped her arms around the dam, who embraced her tightly and cried on her shoulder.

Thorin turned to his father-by-marriage. "Your Majesty, what has been done to the perpetrators of this crime?"

Ragin looked to him and replied is a low voice, "Four of the five are in custody in the dungeons. As I'm sure you know, one of the rotten pile of warg _kakhf_ escaped capture. But we'll find him."

Dwalin, who had stepped inside behind Thorin, added, "Nori is even now in Eastfell working his magic."

Thorin nodded his approval. If anyone could ferret out the identity of the fifth attacker, it was Nori. He was an expert not only in thievery but gathering secrets, which was why Dáin had appointed him Lord Inquisitor of Erebor.

He took another look around and noted that someone who ought be there was not. "Where is Lord Hagen?"

Rejna was helping Greti back into her chair as he spoke and looked over. "Yes, where is he? I should think even his prejudice would not keep him away when his son is so grievously injured."

"He would not come," Greti replied tearfully, her eyes on Halvar's bruised and swollen face. "He said… he said… he said that Halvar was not his son."

With that the grieving mother dissolved into tears. Rejna tried to console her but could not. The princess looked up again and said, "Lord Commander, go and fetch a healer. Tell them to bring Lady Greti a sleeping draught."

"At once, Your Highness," Dwalin replied, and immediately stepped out.

"No! No, I don't want a sleeping potion!" Greti cried. "I want to be here when he… When my Halvar wakes up, I want to be here!"

"And you will, Greti," said King Ragin. "But you need to rest, for you have sat vigil over Halvar all night. We'll have the healer bring in a cot for you to sleep on, so you'll not have to leave the room."

"Oh! Oh, thank you, Your Majesty. You are ever so kind, even after what my husband has done. I can't… I can hardly believe he refused to come."

Thorin looked to Ragin and tipped his head toward the door. The king nodded his understanding and the two stepped out of the room.

"I will go to Eastfell Hall," said Thorin once the door was closed behind them. "Perhaps I can appeal to Hagen."

Ragin raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain you wish to make the attempt, my son?"

"Yeah, Uncle," spoke up Kíli. "When I went this morning to inform them of the attack, the guards near refused to allow me entry into the hall."

Thorin scowled. "The boy is his son, his only child!" he said, gesturing toward Halvar's room. "Can he truly be so heartless as to not be with him when he has been so brutally assaulted?"

Ragin sighed. "Hagen meant it when he said at the wedding that Halvar was no son of his, Thorin. He has cut him off completely—Halvar is no longer allowed admittance to Eastfell Hall, not even to see his own mother. The funds from his inheritance have been denied him and he now has only his pay from the army to support himself."

"This is preposterous!" Thorin growled. "I am beginning to think that Hagen is more than a little mad, to deny his own flesh and blood. No dwarf I have ever known has been so cruel as he."

"It is a first for me as well," admitted the king. "I shudder to think what will transpire at the next council meeting. Hagen has publicly renounced his son but has yet to name another heir."

"Perhaps we ought call an emergency meeting to find out—surely being summoned to the council chambers will bring him into the capital," Thorin suggested.

Ragin nodded. "I was considering that as well; I am pleased we are of the same mind, my boy."

In spite of the circumstances, Thorin could not help but grin, even as he said, "There are but thirty-two years between us, my Lord. Do you not think it foolish to keep referring to me as a boy?"

The other dwarrow clapped him on the shoulder. "Thorin, you are my son-by-marriage. Regardless of your age, because you are wed to my daughter in my eyes you are but a boy."

Thorin rolled his eyes and shook his head, realizing this was an argument he would probably never win. After informing Rejna of their plan, he and the king departed the Hall of Medicine to set it in motion.


	65. Chapter 65

**To all my exceptionally awesome followers, whether you review or not, you have my deepest and humblest thanks for sticking with me and this story. I'm sorry I'm not posting as often as I used to - too many things going on in my life keeping me from doing what I love (writing) as often as I'd like to be doing it (all the time!). But I finally managed a new chapter for you all, so here's to hoping there are more to come and you won't have to wait so long to read them.**

* * *

 **65\. So It Begins**

"In the game of thrones, you either win or you die."

~ Cersei Lannister, _Game of Thrones_

* * *

It was a full four hours after a page had been sent off with the summons that Hagen deigned to make an appearance.

Though his lack of immediate response naturally irritated Thorin, Ragin, and the other members of the council, in turn it afforded them the chance to plan their strategy against the Eastfell lord. When at last the doors to the council chamber were opened and Hagen stepped through them he spoke, apologizing for his tardiness. The dwarrow's voice trailed off as he took notice of Thorin sitting to the king's right.

Stiffening, he scowled as his face reddened. "I refuse to sit at council with that interloper," he snarled, whirling back toward the door.

"Walk out that door, Lord Hagen," Thorin said calmly, "and you will not return through it. You will never sit at this table in council ever again."

"The hell you say!" Hagen retorted as he turned back around. "You cannot deny me my right!"

"Actually, Hagen, he can," spoke up Tryg. "Or have you forgotten that Master Thorin is now our Crown Prince?"

" _Your_ crown prince, perhaps, but not mine," Hagen snapped.

"It matters not your feelings toward His Highness, he is your Prince," put in Eirik.

King Ragin cleared his throat. "Prince Thorin speaks for the council, Lord Hagen. If you depart from an unwillingness to share the table with my daughter's husband, then you forfeit your seat. Your title and privilege will pass to your heir."

"But wait—you don't have one anymore, do you?" said Kari in a voice that was a little too sweet.

"Kari," her father warned.

She ignored him, her eyes still on Hagen. "We're all thinking it, _Adad_ , I'm just saying it. You're a right foul bastard, Hagen, to deny your own son _his_ right simply because his heart chooses other males. You're an even bigger piece of _kakhf_ for refusing to let him return to his own home, to deny him access to his own mother, and worse still you refuse to acknowledge Halvar even though he fights for his life in this very mountain!"

The reactions of those at the table to her statement were a mix of astonishment and pride—Thorin caught a glimpse in Tryg's eyes of fear as well. In the next moment he saw the reason for it, as Hagen turned a dark puce as he marched around the table toward Kari, who bravely stood to face the enraged dwarf, her hands fisted on her hips.

"You had better watch your tongue, girl, or I will cut it from your mouth!" Hagen snarled.

Thorin's respect for Tryg rose a notch as he watched the younger dwarrow rise from his seat and move to stand next to his heir. "Lay one finger on my daughter, and I will soil this sacred hall with your blood!"

"I do not fear you, half-breed," snapped Hagen.

Thorin shared a look with King Ragin—this meeting was not going according to plan. Time to rein it in.

"While I share your sentiments, Lord Tryg," Thorin began slowly, "I must ask you to refrain from killing Lord Hagen until the matter of his heir is settled. That is, after all, the purpose for this session of the council."

" _Sit down_ ," said Ragin firmly. "All of you."

Kari was the first to take a seat. Tryg remained standing next to her until Hagen had taken his usual seat to the king's left, though he sneered when he realized he would be sitting directly across from Thorin.

"Lord Hagen," Ragin began, "the council has convened to address the matter of your heir. As you have chosen to disinherit your only son, another must be named in his place to sit beside you at council and receive your holdings and title on the event of your death."

"Because you have no other children, either male or female, the obvious option would be to name one of your brother's children in Halvar's place, as they are related to you by blood," said Lord Eirik.

Hagen snorted. "Grev's wife bore him only daughters. I would not be so foolish as to select a female as my heir," he replied in a snide tone. "Dams are weak and sentimental and clearly cannot be counted upon to make intelligent choices."

"I beg your pardon?!" shouted Kari, who would have stood again had Tryg not taken a firm grip of her shoulder and held her down.

"Take care how you speak and choose your words wisely, Lord Hagen," Thorin said then, his tone indicating the rise in his own anger. He'd kept a level head thus far, but the insult against females—which he knew was directed not only at Kari but Rejna as well—had struck a nerve. It was not the first time he had insulted the princess, and he was beginning to wonder how this dwarf had ever managed to earn the respect of his people when he had such a low opinion of females and anyone else he considered beneath himself.

Hagen's words also indicated an insult against the king, who had amazed Thorin by tolerating the Stiffbeard's behavior as long as he had. _Perhaps he desires only to keep the peace_ , he mused silently, though in the next moment he learned that there were limits even to Ragin's patience.

"I have had quite enough of the disrespect you have of late shown to my daughter," said the king. "Malign Rejna's character or intelligence again and you will find that Lord Tryg is not the only one willing to spill blood."

Hagen's expression darkened, but before he could speak, Ragin continued. "As a Lord of this kingdom, you are required to have an heir. As such, you have but three options before you: One, you can recover your senses and rescind the disinheritance of Halvar. Once he is recovered from his grievous injuries, he would again take his place beside you at council."

"Your second option," spoke up Eirik again, "should the worst happen to General Halvar or you refuse to reinstate his inheritance, would be to name another of your bloodline to take his place. You have already indicated that you have no desire to name either Greva or Igra as your heir."

Silence fell for a moment as they let him absorb that information, then Hagen barked, "And the third option?"

Thorin could not help the small smile that played at his lips as he said, "Like myself and the princess, you would be required to sire a male child of your own within a year's time. Unfortunately, this option is likely unavailable to you given the advanced age of Lady Greti."

"And even if she is still capable of bearing children, I doubt she'd be willing to bear you another on account of your treatment of the son she's already given you," added Kari. "Not to mention the sole purpose of the child would be to take away all that is Halvar's by right of birth."

Hagen looked around the table at them. "Do you _really_ think you can force me to return inheritance to that ingrate spawn of my wife or to name one of my brother's silly girls as my heir?"

"Actually, my Lord…" spoke up Hakon for the first time as he produced from under the table an ancient scroll that Thorin knew the boy's father had discovered in his beloved archives. "…we can. According to the ancient laws which you yourself attempted to make use of in order to force a marriage between Princess Rejna and General Halvar, as His Majesty stated you are required to have an heir in order to retain your own position on the council."

"Meaning should you refuse to concede to at least one of your three options, you will forfeit not only your seat on the council but your title as Lord of Eastfell— _and_ all the holdings and wealth that are bound to it," Thorin added.

The expression Hagen favored him with was murderous. "You would not _dare_ go that far."

Thorin stared at him with a determined gaze. "We will do what we must for the good of the people."

Hagen turned his gaze, softening it only a little, toward the king. "Your Majesty, you cannot allow this! First this usurper takes the princess, now he seeks to take what is mine as well!"

A snort of derision issued from him before Thorin retorted, "Hagen I do not want what is yours. Already Mahal has given me everything I have ever desired."

"You recited law to us when you sought to marry your son to my daughter, Lord Hagen," Ragin said then. "We are only returning the favor. I am sure you understand that I have no desire to disrupt the council, which has operated smoothly for decades. I do not act out of malice, old friend—I act only in the best interests of our people."

"Regardless of our personal feelings towards one another, Hagen, there is none here who can say that Eastfell has not prospered under your leadership," said Tryg. "You believed your son capable of leading the people there before his confession at the royal wedding, when surely he discovered decades ago that his proclivities leaned towards males rather than females. Why does knowing that make him any less qualified? What does it truly matter with whom he seeks companionship so long as the people of your district do not suffer for it?"

"I object to Halvar's choice," Hagen said through clenched teeth, "because he cannot produce an heir with another bloody male! And because to lay with one of your own gender is unnatural!"

"Surely even you ought be able to see why there are males who desire the company of other males in their beds, in a society that even with the addition of the blood of Edain still remains around sixty percent male," Lady Kari pointed out. "The simple truth is that there just are not enough females for every male to be mated to one. Do you not think it likely that Mahal himself instilled this desire in those that seek their own gender for love? Why would they do it if it is so unnatural? I believe our creator made them the way they are because not everyone can have a mate of the opposite gender, and he does not desire any one of his children to spend all their days without the love of another."

"Silly and sentimental, like I said," Hagen observed with a shake of his head. "Our benevolent creator would never allow such an abomination to take shape from his hands."

Kari threw up her hands and turned away from the head of the table. King Ragin sighed, then said, "Lord Hagen, your three choices are before you. In recognition of the many years of service you have given to the people of Dwarrowvale, I will give you until the first of the men's new year to make your choice."

Tryg sat forward as though to argue but Ragin held up a hand to silence him. "Lord Tryg, do not question my decision. Yes, it is more than fair, but in the same vein Rejna was allowed more than five years' leniency. Three months will make little difference in the end. In that time, he will either reconcile with Halvar, by some miracle sire another son with Lady Greti, or he will settle his affairs and name one of his nieces as his heir."

On that note, Hagen rose, offered a curt nod to the king, and departed without a word.

 **-...-**

Rejna walked through the palace with Árni and Dag at her front and back. When she had stepped out of Halvar's room they were waiting for her; Árni, of course, she had expected, but Dag accompanying them as they left she had questioned. Her long-time guardian informed her that "Prince Thorin gave orders for additional security."

Though it bothered her he had not discussed it with her first, she had decided she would not raise a fuss. Given the attack on Halvar, she could understand his concern. Her march toward the council chambers was not to battle with her overprotective husband, but to discover what had transpired with Lord Hagen. He had told her only that he and her father had a plan in mind, but nothing about what they intended to do. That had been more than four hours ago.

The Stiffbeard clan leader was exiting the council chambers when she and her guards rounded the corner. Hagen stopped short on seeing her, a scowl descending over his features.

"How gracious of you, Your Highness, to finally bless us with your presence," he said with a sneer.

Now on either side of her, Árni and Dag both bristled. Rejna merely smiled benignly as she brought her hands together before her. "I suspect, Lord Hagen, that had you been where I've just come from—that is, your son's bedside—this emergency meeting of the council would never have been called. I was where you should have been, with your injured son and his distraught mother."

"Do not presume to tell me where I should or should not be," Hagen seethed as he stepped toward her.

With a look at Árni and a subtle nod to tell him to remain where he was, she stepped away from her two guards toward the clearly angry dwarf. "As Crown Princess, it is my duty to know where my people are and where they ought to be, and at times I am forced by circumstance to remind them of that. That includes you, Lord Hagen."

He scoffed as he took another step. "You never learn, do you, Princess? When to hold your tongue, when to keep to your place, when to do as you are told…"

Hagen stopped when he was about a foot from her. He lowered his head and his voice was soft and ominous as he whispered, "None of this would happen if you'd just done as you were told."

A smile she could only describe as sinister was on his lips as he straightened, then gestured to his own guards and walked away.

Rejna turned her head to stare after him. When he and his guards turned the corner at the end of the hall, she broke into a run to cross the few remaining before the council chamber doors, brushing aside the guards of her husband, father, and the other lords gathered there.

When she threw them open she startled the dwarves seated at the table. They were all quick to stand and Thorin started toward her.

"Rejna, what has happened?" he asked.

"Has Halvar gone to Mahal's embrace?" her father asked.

"He did it," was her reply, as she lifted eyes that she knew were full of her shock and horror. "Hagen, he... he tried to kill his own son."

Her father scowled, before looking over her shoulder at her guardians. "Leave us, and close those doors behind you."

Rejna heard no reply save for Dag and Árni's retreating footsteps and the doors closing. By this time Thorin had reached her and taken her hands into his. "Tell us, _Amrâlimê_ , what do you mean by your words?"

She squeezed his hands as she answered him. "Thorin, in the hall just now I ran into Lord Hagen. We exchanged some words and then he whispered to me that..."

"My love, you are shaking. Come and sit down," Thorin said, and she could hear the concern in his voice. Rejna allowed him to guide her to the table, where Eirik poured her a goblet of water.

She took a sip of the cool liquid to calm her jangling nerves. Hagen had irritated her often enough, but the only time she had been as unsettled as she was now were the times Thorin had been attacked.

" _Nâtha_ , tell us what Hagen said," her father said, his expression dark but concerned.

Rejna drew a breath. "Besides telling me I never learn when to keep my mouth shut or do as I am told, he said that 'none of this would happen' if I'd just done as I was told."

Tryg sat forward across the table. "Those were his exact words, Your Highness?" he asked. "He didn't say 'would have'?"

She shook her head. "No, Lord Tryg. He definitely said 'would', but I feel very strongly he was talking about Halvar."

"Perhaps not just about Halvar," Thorin said, casting his eyes toward the king. "Your Majesty, I fear now that Hagen has some dark plans to put into motion."

"They may have already begun," suggested Kari. "Could he truly be behind the attack on Halvar? If so, how could he do that to his own child—it's such a horrible thought!"

"Indeed, my Lady," said Hakon. "To be so heartless as to ignore Halvar is one thing, but to have been the one to order the assault?"

Ragin held up a hand. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves," he said slowly. "We cannot jump to any conclusions."

"But Father!" Rejna cried.

"I am not saying I do not believe you," he assured her. "But as when your One was attacked, we can do nothing unless the fools who did his bidding name him as their employer."

"And we know how well that worked out before," Thorin muttered darkly. "How can he possibly garner such unwavering loyalty? How much gold does it take to sell out your own kin?"

From the corner of her eye, Rejna watched as suddenly her beloved stiffened. She knew he was thinking of the days when he was besieged by dragon sickness and had cared for nothing save the mountains of gold in Erebor's otherwise empty halls. She knew that the guilt he felt over succumbing to the sickness was creeping up on him—even after nearly a year's time since his return to the living world, even after receiving complete forgiveness from his kinsmen, he still carried the weight of those days of madness on his shoulders.

Beneath the table she reached over and wrapped her hand around the one of his that rested on his leg. Thorin turned his head slightly and offered her a smile, and for that Rejna was relieved.

"It truly saddens me to say that given his behavior of late, I am not entirely surprised Lord Hagen is behind what happened to Halvar," said Kari slowly. "At the same time I am completely stunned. How could he _do_ such a thing to his own flesh and blood?"

Both Eirik and Tryg looked to their children. Rejna turned her gaze to her father and found him staring intently at her. She knew with unwavering certainty that no father sitting at that table could ever have been so cruel to their children.

"Hagen must be feeling desperate," Thorin said quietly. "Forcing Rejna's hand didn't work. The attempts on my life did not work. Halvar's assault is an act of rage. He didn't get what he wanted and his son has embarrassed him."

"And since we can tie none of those crimes Hagen, there is naught we can do but keep an eye on him," said Tryg.

"Hagen is entirely too clever for his own good, or so I have been warned," added Thorin. "He must know that with his words to the Princess we would start watching him. It is unlikely he will do anything to incriminate himself."

"As much as I dislike giving the repugnant fool any credit, Hagen _can_ be very charming and charismatic when a situation calls for it," said Eirik. "He has likely made enormous promises to the dwarves and men he hired to attack both you and Halvar in order to persuade them into silence."

Hakon snorted. "More likely he paid them enormous amounts of money."

"But what good would the money do them if they are imprisoned or executed?" queried Rejna. "They cannot spend it from behind bars or beyond the grave."

"Then it was paid to their families," said Thorin. "That is the only reason I can imagine they might take any sum at all. These attackers were most likely from poor families. Perhaps they were desperate themselves, for some means of supporting their loved ones."

Rejna scoffed. "Gold and silver are all well and good, my Prince, but true support comes from actually _being_ there. These _lalkhân_ have brought their families only dishonor and ruin."

At that moment the chamber door opened. Solveg stepped inside, bowed, then said, "Forgive the disruption, Your Majesty, but Master Nori is requesting to speak to Prince Thorin."

Rejna glanced at her husband, who lifted a brow before turning to her father. He nodded, and so Thorin turned back to the soldier and bid him show his kinsman in. He stood as the star-haired dwarf marched toward him.

Nori bowed respectfully to the king before he spoke. "I regretfully did not find the rat bastard that got away from us last night—no one seems to know where he is, but folk weren't afraid to give up his name."

"Who is he?" demanded her father.

"Some foul git named Etten," Nori replied.

Thorin cursed under his breath. Rejna looked up at him, concerned by his reaction. "My love, do you know the man?"

He shook his head. "Nay, I do not. But I have heard of him."

Turning to encompass all at the table with his remarks, Thorin said, "He is the man who dug up the bones of Melindë's mother and brother."


	66. Chapter 66

**Will you look at this! Second chapter in two days! I can't tell you how long my Muse will stick around this time, but I'm so happy I have had her as long as she's been with me this go round. Hopefully you all like this chapter as much as the last one.**

 **Special shout-out to all the awesome folk who dropped me a review on chapter 65 - Sparky She-Demon, Adoniss, Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, and thewolf74. Thank you all so much for sticking around and reminding me that there are folk out there who still want to read this story. Keeps me going.**

 **There are also a ton of folk who've clicked the favorite and follow buttons in the last couple of months, but I'm afraid I don't have those emails anymore. Please know that even if you don't leave a review (though I wish you would, I love to know what people think!), the fact that you are following the story just makes my day. I'll try to keep any new names to shout out for the next chapter!**

* * *

 **66\. Matters of Honor**

* * *

Because it was the first Ragin had heard of the grave desecration, Thorin had to explain it to him. Melindë had handled it her way, he said, and from what his nephew had said, no one had harassed her or vandalized her property since.

The king vowed he would order soldiers to begin searching for Etten immediately. Nori volunteered his services to help instruct the search parties on the right way to ask questions so that they got the answers they needed. Ragin was quick to take him up on the offer, and both Tryg and Eirik gave their word they would send along their best men to join the search.

When all made to leave, Rejna observed that it was getting onto time for the evening meal, so organizing the search parties was put off until first thing in the morning. Deciding then that now was as good a time as any to seek out Fíli and give him the news that Etten had become dangerous, on departing the council chamber he questioned his brother as to his whereabouts. Kíli reported that as far as he knew, Fíli and Melindë had planned to eat with Larkspur at the hobbit hole that evening. Nori added that Balin was likely to be there as well, as he couldn't get enough of his sister-in-law's cooking.

Thorin then turned to Rejna and said, "Stay and have dinner with your father. I will join you whence I am finished at Dwalin's."

"Are you certain you do not wish me to go with you?" she asked, concern in her eyes.

"Nay—though you are family now to Fíli, I feel as though it is best you remain here."

"You just wish to see me safely ensconced in the castle," his new wife teased.

Thorin grinned. "'Tis but an added bonus," he said. "However, if you would not mind my giving you a task, there _is_ something you can do for me."

"Name it and I will see it done."

"Speak to one or two soldiers that you trust. I have no doubt that once Fíli hears what I have to tell him, he will demand security for Melindë until Etten is caught," said Thorin.

"Etten?" broke in Kíli with a frown. "That fellow what used to bother Mel? What's he got to do with anything?"

"He's the one that got away, Kee," Nori answered him, and Thorin watched a scowl come over his nephew's features.

"Given her delicate condition," said Rejna then, "I would agree with assigning Melindë protection. If this Etten fellow could be convinced to help try and kill someone, then he could certainly go after someone who called him to carpet him in front of his friends."

"Should we not also find a guardian for Fíli as well?" queried Kíli.

Thorin turned his gaze to Dwalin and the two of them laughed. Kíli joined them after a moment, shaking his head as he told them, "Forget I even said that. This is Fee we're talking about."

"So you don't think Etten might target Fíli as well?" countered Rejna. "Your uncle requires protection and not your brother?"

"Firstly, _Amrâlimê_ , I do not _require_ protection," Thorin told her. "I conceded to having bodyguards only to ease your conscience and follow the mandates of my new position in Dwarrowvale society. Had I the choice, I would have no guards at all."

Rejna drew her hands to her hips and planted them there, opening her mouth to argue. He placed a finger against her lips to stop her tirade, which led to a scowl and a none-too-gentle bite. Thorin drew his hand away, the first section of his finger stinging, though he did not shake it. He instead reached for her hands and took them into his own.

"Fíli is a walking arsenal, my dear," he said. "Long has he been a devotee of the bladed weapon, and he carries more knives on his person than one can imagine. Etten or anyone else foolish enough to attempt any harm against him would very quickly come to regret the choice."

She gave him a hard stare for a moment, then nodded her head. "I know precisely who to talk to. Since already Dag is secondary to my own security, Gunnar is an excellent choice to guard Melindë."

Thorin nodded his approval. "Have him report to their apartment early in the morning."

Rejna nodded, and after sharing a kiss they parted ways. Thafar and Bahûna, who had remained in the hall with Kíli, trotted along before the four as they made their way through the palace. Every dwarf they passed now bowed or curtsied to Thorin, as did the sons and daughters of Men who worked there. He nodded politely in return, having already endured such behavior from days of old in the Blue Mountains. There was little, truly, that he would have to get used to in his new role, and though he had begun to realize he enjoyed the simplicities of everyday life, Thorin could not say he was not comfortable being a leader.

It was, as many had pointed out, a role he had been born into. It came to him naturally, taking charge, and his only concern was how quickly he would acclimate himself to the laws and customs of his new people.

The group of six headed first to the apartment Thorin and Kíli had once shared with Fíli, to make sure he and his wife were not still there. A quick check of the rooms showed they were out, and so they departed for the hobbit hole. When they arrived, Asrân greeted his brother and sister with a low howl, which the gray and black wolves returned. The ladies greeted them with smiles as they stepped into the kitchen; Melindë and Larkspur were busy cooking dinner, and Fíli and Balin were seated at the table with a mug of ale each. Dwalin stepped to his wife's side and kissed her cheek, and his attempt to steal a muffin got his hand smacked.

"You can wait," the hobbit chided him.

"But I'm hungry now!" Dwalin protested.

"Dinner will be ready soon," said Melindë. "You lot get on out—go smoke a pipeful or somethin'."

"Come on, Dwalin," said Fíli as he rose from the dining table. "You know as well as I we'd best let the females have their way."

"Think you're so smart, do you? I've been married longer than you have, boy!" Dwalin countered.

Fíli grinned. "Aye, but apparently you haven't learned much about the art of being a husband."

Kíli scoffed. "Lark is pregnant, Fee. I think he's learned quite enough!"

Thorin only shook his head, biting a back a grin as Fíli threw an arm across his brother's shoulders and led him toward the open front door. " _Naddith_ , there is _so_ much more to being a husband than knowing how to please your lady…"

With another shake of his head, Thorin looked to the ladies. "Dinner smells delicious. I hope Kíli and I are not intruding."

Larkspur waved off his words with a flip of her hand. "You know better than that, Thorin. I only wish the princess could have joined us. Only married a week and already you're away from her."

"Not entirely by choice, I assure you," he replied after casting a glance at Dwalin and Nori. Balin raised a white eyebrow but said nothing as he turned and followed the younger dwarrow out.

His words drew the attention of Melindë. "Is everythin' all right, Thorin?" she asked.

He could not tell her before speaking to Fíli, so Thorin nodded his head and offered a smile. "All will be well, _Iraknâtha_."

At that, he turned and headed back through the house, Dwalin and Nori following close behind. The moment they appeared, Fíli strode up to him, his arms crossed as he said, "All right, Uncle, spill. You've barely been married a week and already you're here instead of with your _yasthith_ , as you should be. What's going on?"

Thorin drew a breath—he ought to have known he would not be long in telling, as Fíli was both intelligent and observant. _He would have made an exceptional king_ , he thought, before looking at his nephew squarely.

"Nori discovered the identity of Halvar's fifth attacker, the one that escaped," he said slowly. "It was someone with whom you are acquainted already, a man named Etten."

Fíli's expression fell at once, his eyes darting toward the door, though which the kitchen was clearly visible. "Where is he now?" he demanded.

"If we knew that, he'd have already been taken into custody," said Dwalin.

Fíli looked to him. "What about the others? The ones that were caught—what do they know?"

"No one is talking, which should be of no surprise to you," said Thorin with a derisive snort. "They have said nothing all day, according to the king."

"Then let me have a go at them, Thorin!" his nephew cried. "That orc spawn used to harass Melindë—if he'd attack an army general, he'll surely come after her!"

"Might be worth a try," said Dwalin.

"I will pass your offer along to the king—" Thorin began, though he was cut off by Fíli.

"Pass it along!" he snapped. "Why can't you just grant me permission to throttle one or more of those idiots? You're the bloody crown prince now!"

"Even were I king I could not simply allow you to do so and you know it," Thorin countered. "There are laws and regulations which must be followed, and unfortunately those very same laws speak of the rights of the accused—not to mention Melindë is no immediate danger at present."

" _Ârra_!" Fíli growled, turning away from him. He whirled back a moment later and said, "I want protection for her regardless."

Thorin nodded. "In anticipation of your request, Rejna is arranging for a guardian for your One. Gunnar will report to the apartment first thing tomorrow."

Fíli nodded slowly. "Good. I like Gunnar—he's a capital dwarrow."

"What is being done to apprehend this wretch, Thorin?" asked Balin.

"I was all over Eastfell most of the day," said Nori. "'Tis how I learned the little troll's name. But though folk were quick to throw him under the wagon, no one seems to know where he might be."

"I bet those _kakhfs_ in the dungeons know," muttered Fíli.

"Search parties from all the districts will gather in the capital in the morning," said Thorin. "Nori is going to give them some instruction on how to search out their prey. The more we have combing all four settlements, the sooner we shall find him."

"And the bloody better I'll feel," added his nephew. "Thorin, I do not like at all that Melindë's tormentor is out there, not knowing he tried to kill someone."

"The knowledge unsettles me as well, _Irakdashat_ , I assure you. And as much as I would like to exact some vengeance on Halvar's behalf, to beat Etten's whereabouts out of those _binakrag_ wargs, I cannot."

Fíli sighed heavily. "I know, Uncle. I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said.

Then Thorin felt a sharp pain in his chest at the way the younger dwarf's expression changed to one with a hint of fear. "But she is my _wife_ ," Fíli went on. "She carries my child—my _child_ , Thorin. I will go mad if anything happens to her."

Thorin stepped forward and placed his hands on Fíli's shoulders. He looked into eyes near the same blue as his own as he pledged, "Nothing will happen to her. On my life, I will see to it that no harm comes to your One."

"As do I, _Nadad_ ," added Kíli solemnly.

"And we three as well," Dwalin threw in, gesturing with his thumb at Nori and Balin, who nodded their agreement.

With another deeply drawn breath, Fíli nodded. "Good. I'll sleep a little better tonight knowing the five of you have her back, and mine."

Dwalin stepped up next to Thorin then and said, "Gather her close, lad, and place your hand over her womb. Praise Mahal for the miracle of her, and of your child, and you will sleep just fine."

At this Fíli smiled. "I have done that every single night since I married her."

He then sighed again and looked inside the house. "I'm going to have to tell her. I don't want to upset her, but I can't keep this from her."

"Why not?" asked Kíli. "Why upset her unnecessarily?"

Fíli turned to him. "Brother, it is a part of being a good mate that you don't keep secrets from one another. She may not yet love me, but she has given her trust to me and I will not dishonor that gift by hiding anything from her."

"At least wait until after dinner, laddie," suggested Balin. "Let us not spoil the meal for the ladies with unpleasant tidings."

So it was that the meal passed pleasantly, though Thorin noticed Fíli was especially attentive to his young wife. Watching them, he wondered why Mahal would give to his nephew a mate who did not love him straight away, as so often happened in dwarf pairs, and wondered if perhaps—after all she had been through—it was so that Fíli could teach her what it was to be loved. If anybody among them needed to learn what real love was, what it meant, it was this sweet, tortured Dúnedain girl.

When the plates were cleared and they had all moved outside to smoke and simply enjoy the pleasant evening air, Fíli sat on the bench Larkspur had insisted be placed outside with Melindë. He held her hand and told her of what they had discovered, and though her expression showed her alarm that Etten had been a part of something so terrible, she protested when informed that she would have a bodyguard come morning.

"Now Fíli, that be entirely unnecessary," she said. "Etten may 'ave been a git ta me in the past, but 'e's ne'er done me any physical harm."

"And I'll not take the chance that he will," Fíli said firmly. "He's elevated his stupidity from harassment to attempted murder, and you took him to task in front of a lot of people. I've no doubt he resents you for that."

"And you dropped 'im through a table—what's ta stop 'im comin' after ye for _that_ , eh?" she countered. "Fíli, I need you. This wee babe inside me needs ye—ye can't leave us alone!"

Fíli took her face in his hands. "I'm not going to. There's no way a fool like Etten could ever get the drop on me."

 _Fíli, I need you_. It was the closest Melindë had come in the two months they'd been married to saying she loved him, and it renewed Thorin's hope that the words were soon to be said, for he knew how desperately Fíli longed to hear them.

"I can assure you, _Iraknâtha_ , that there are few dwarves more dangerous than Fíli when crossed," he said gently. "He will not come to any harm."

" _Ibriz_ , I ask that you not challenge me on this," Fíli said. "Accept the guard until Etten is caught. When he is in chains, the guard will be dismissed—you have my word."

Melindë loosed a soft huff. "'Tis clear I've nae any real choice in the matter."

Fíli grinned. "Not really. I just hope you understand I only want you and our little one to be safe."

The redhead sighed, though she smiled as she said, "I know. It's what I adore most about ye, that ye care so much. No one 'as since me _ada_ was around."

Soon after that, all who lived in the mountain departed for it. Thorin and Kíli said their goodbyes to Fíli and Melindë at the east entrance, then they headed for the palace. Kíli was quiet as they walked toward the gate, then suddenly said, "He really loves her, doesn't he?"

"Aye, that he does," Thorin replied. "Fíli loves Melindë as Dwalin loves Larkspur. As I love Rejna. As your father loved your mother."

"I want that, Uncle. I see the way you all are with your mates, they way you look at them. They way they look at you all—and I can't help but feel this desperate longing in my heart to have what you have."

Thorin paused at the top of the palace steps and turned to him—they'd had a similar conversation before, and he had a feeling he or one of the others might have to do so again before Kíli received his due. His nephew had been deeply wounded by the loss of Tauriel (for which Thorin realized he could no longer blame her), his heart made even more vulnerable by the loss of his mother. All he seemed to want now was someone of his own to love, who would love him in return.

"And one day you will have it, Kíli, of that I am certain," he assured the younger dwarf. "Mahal would not grant your kin such gifts and deny them to you. Though it would seem he desires you to wait a little longer, I pray you do not give up hope for the rewards he has in store for you."

With a long drawn-in breath, Kíli nodded, and they turned in unison to enter the palace. Thorin bid Kíli go on to his rooms, saying he did not feel it necessary to be walked to his door. With a chuckle and a tired wave, his nephew turned right at the top of the grand staircase inside the castle, and he turned left to make his way to the suite of rooms he would be sharing with Rejna.

A thrill of pleasure zipped through him at the thought that her rooms were now _their_ rooms. He had a wife now—a beautiful, sassy, vivacious wife whose smart mouth heated his blood almost as much as her sinfully sexy curves did. He had enjoyed loving her body each day and night of their wedding week, had enjoyed sharing his own with her, allowing her the freedom to explore him as he had explored her.

Her body was not the only thing he had come to love about Rejna. Her genuine passion for life, her dedication to her people—to see them prosperous and happy—was remarkable. She had fought for her birthright with as much, if not more, energy as she had used fighting that group of orcs on the night they'd met. She took her responsibilities as Crown Princess most seriously, taking the devotion of the people to heart. She knew she was a leader, someone the people—especially young girls—looked up to, and she never wanted to give them a reason to regret the trust and faith they had placed in her.

And she loved him. Not his name, his legacy, or his wealth (the latter of which he had been informed he still had as Dáin claimed he'd never be able to spend his fourteenth share on his own)—she loved _him_. She loved everything about him, flaws and all, and the very real possibility that madness could still claim him one day did not frighten her in the least. Gandalf had assured him that defeating the dragon sickness on his own had basically cured him, that there was little chance he would fall victim to madness of any kind now, but it was still a fear he could not shake. Rejna understood that fear, and had pledged she would stand by him always.

 _I am so blessed_ , he thought, _though I am hardly worthy of such a treasure_.

The night guards standing outside the chamber doors bowed their heads in silent greeting. Thorin nodded in return and stepped inside, calling out Rejna's name as he shut the door.

"I'm in here," she replied, her voice emanating from the bedroom.

With a grin on his face, Thorin kicked off his boots and began to untie his tunic as he walked toward the bedroom. He came to a sudden stop in the doorway as the sight before him sole his breath:

Bathed in soft candlelight, wearing absolutely nothing but a smile, was his wife.

She'd been leaning against the bedpost when he entered, but she straightened and walked toward him, and helped him finish undressing in silence. Rejna then said softly, "I assume you have already had your dinner?"

"I have, my Lady," Thorin replied, his voice husky with want. With need.

Rejna smiled and took him by the hands, pulling him with her as she backed toward the bed. "Then come and get your dessert, my love."

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _yasthith_ – wife that is young/fresh/new (bride)

 _Ârra_ – argh (expression of frustration)


	67. Chapter 67

**Are you loving my Muse as much as I am right now? I sure hope so, because here's the third chapter in a week! Been forever since that's happened!**

 **Thanks ever so very much to the following for leaving a review of the last chapter: readergirl4985, Robinbird79, Eleleira, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, djhay4, readpink, and LoveMeSomeFili. Thank you Eleleira for clicking the favorite and follow buttons too!**

 **LoveMeSomeFili: Mel certainly does deserve some sweetness after the horror of her past. Isn't it wonderful that Fee loves her so much, even though she cannot yet say the words back to him? And oh yes, Thorin is definitely less of a dour dwarrow now that he's gotten one of the things he's always wanted but never admitted to wanting. But I assure you and everyone else, I have not forgotten Kíli. It's just that what I have in store for him is going to take a little more time to bring about!**

* * *

 **67\. Blood, Bonding, and Backbone**

* * *

The next few weeks were full of tension.

Fíli became increasingly agitated that Etten had yet to be captured. Though he had been seen a few times in the Valley, in Eastfell, and even in the capital lands outside the mountain, each time he was spotted he would disappear by the time soldiers arrived on scene to arrest him. Though Melindë was escorted inside the central mountain by Gunnar alone, she was forbidden by Fíli to venture outside it without him or one of his kinsmen also by her side.

Nothing that Thorin, Kíli, or any of the others said to try and keep him calm would settle Fíli's ire at the fact that Etten was still on the loose.

Rejna discovered a week after their return that she had not conceived. Thorin found her sobbing on the floor in their private wet room one day, and only after several minutes of attempting to soothe her was she able to manage that her monthly bleed had started. Thorin was only mildly disappointed, as he knew that such things happened in their own time, but his bride was despondent, fearing that she might lose the throne after all if she did not bear him a son before the end of their first year of marriage.

Assaults against persons who were in open relationships with a person of the same gender started happening all over the kingdom, gradually increasing to it being a daily occurrence. Sometimes it was only verbal harassment, sometimes there was violence. Then there were two deaths before soldiers could intervene, one in the Valley and one in Westrock.

Dwarves with mates who were of Men were harassed as well. Their children were bullied by pureblood dwarf children. Suspicion and rumor flittered throughout the kingdom that the Brotherhood of Mahal was behind it all, but no one had seen anyone wearing the tell-tale robes they were known for. No one had been going around preaching about "purity in marriage, purity of blood" as the Brotherhood was wont to do.

Balin had pledged to remain in the south until the birth of his niece or nephew, but much to the dismay of Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli, Nori announced he was departing for Erebor about the end of the first week of November. He was torn, he said, because he wanted to stay and help root out the troublemakers in Dwarrowvale, but if there were indeed spies of Sauron in the Lonely Mountain, Dáin needed him there as well. There was also the fact that winter would arrive in the north long before he reached Erebor—the roads up there often becoming impassable in deep snows—and the sooner he left, the less chance there was that he would have to hunker down somewhere in Rohan or the southern cities of Dale for the winter.

One light in the increasing darkness was the fact that he'd had an eager apprentice during his days teaching the soldiers of Dwarrowvale the proper techniques to interview witnesses. A 92-year-old young dwarf of Ironfist heritage named Durc had proven keen and intellectual and had picked up Nori's tricks like a duck to water. Given Nori's praise of the young dwarrow, Thorin had discussed the possibility of appointing Durc as Lord Inquisitor of Dwarrowvale with the king, who said they would bring the matter before the council at the next meeting.

Another matter of which there was some celebration was the recovery of Halvar. When he'd regained consciousness he claimed no memory of the assault, which mattered little due to all but one of the attackers being imprisoned. The general's healing was slow but steady, and he was quick to offer his gratitude to the royal family for seeing to his care.

Hagen remained, once more, uncharacteristically silent. There were regular patrols in his district by the army once the assaults had started, but he did not venture out much. Even Greti, who in truth spent most of her time in the capital with her son, saw very little of her husband on the days she did return home. Speculation was rampant within the close circle of Thorin's family and friends that he was simply biding his time, making plans to strike again when it was convenient for him.

It was an unsettling but very real possibility.

 **-...-**

It had been a fine day for being late in the year. In the north, Dwalin and Balin said, there would already be several inches of snow on the ground—the difference between the lands of Erebor and Dale and the lands in Dwarrowvale were refreshing. In the south, the early winter season had proven mild thus far, the temperatures low but requiring only a light jacket, though both Rejna and Melindë had warned that there was still chance for severe storms to blow into the valley from out at sea.

With all the tension that had pervaded the last weeks, the family—including King Ragin—had gathered at Dwalin and Larkspur's for a mighty dinner. Their hope was to relax and simply enjoy great food and greater company, to put the worries of the day aside for at least one evening. Árni's wife and son were there also, and Sindri had joined Larkspur, Melindë, and Rejna in the kitchen to help prepare the small feast while her husband tended to Álfir and socialized with the other males.

All those preparing food were startled when Melindë suddenly dropped a plate, a sharp cry sounding from her lips. The ladies whirled to find her standing stock still, one hand braced against the counter and the other over her belly, her eyes wide and round with shock. Larkspur yelled for Fíli, who came running in moments later followed by nearly every other male.

He was in front of his wife in seconds, her posture causing a lightning bolt of fear to pierce his heart. Fíli placed a hand over the one of hers that held onto the counter and said her name softly. "Melindë? _Ibriz_ , talk to me. Are you well?"

She surprised them all by suddenly laughing. "There it is again!" she cried, then grabbed his hand and placed it against her softly rounded abdomen. " _Meleth nín_ , feel this!"

Fíli felt nothing at first, then a soft, almost unnoticeable fluttering passed beneath his hand. His eyes widened and he looked to Melindë to see her smiling, her eyes shining with what he knew were tears of joy.

"Did you feel it?!" Melindë asked excitedly.

A smile wider than any he'd ever smiled before split his face as he nodded. "That's our baby, isn't it?" he queried, eliciting a soft cry from the other ladies.

Melindë nodded eagerly. "I think it is! Oh, Elbereth, Fíli—'tis the most incredible thing I've ever felt in all me life! Our baby—alive and growin' and movin' inside me, _meleth nín_!"

Fíli raised a brow in curiosity. He'd noted that Melindë often used Sindarin when she was excited or upset, but she'd never said those words before. "What does that mean?" he asked her. "I don't think you've ever called me _meleth nín_ before."

She blinked, and then smiled as the tears began to slip down her cheeks. "I 'aven't, but I will from now on. Oh Fíli… Ye gave this ta me, the most precious of gifts. Ye not only gave me another life ta grow inside me, ye game _me_ new life just by being you. By lovin' me even when I could nae say the words back ta ye. _Meleth nín_ means 'my love', because feelin' this child move 'as made me realize that I _do_ love ye. I only have her because o' ye and yer love—how could I not return it?"

He grabbed her head in his hands then and kissed her soundly, his heart feeling as though it would burst from his chest, he was so happy. Nothing in either of his lifetimes had made him happier than hearing the woman he loved say that she loved him.

The bubble of joy was burst by his little brother, who sidled up to them and said, "So it's a girl, is it? You know for sure you're having a lass?"

Fíli wanted to punch Kíli for the interruption, but Melindë laughed as she stepped back from him and wiped at her face. "Well, o' course we'll nae know for sure until the wee one is born, as I was nae gifted with foresight like some Dúnedain were in the past."

She drew a breath then and looked at Fíli, and a smile came to her face as she took one of his hands in hers. "But I've been 'aving this recurrin' dream where Fee and I are sittin' on a blanket under the warm summer sun, an' 'e's bouncin' a wee little girl with 'is blue eyes an' black, curly hair on 'is knee. So in me head I've been thinkin' o' the little one as a girl."

Fíli looked to his brother to find that Kíli's mirth had sobered. "Who does that remind you of, Fee?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

He smiled, but before he could reply, their uncle spoke up and said what was clearly on both of their minds. "Sounds very much like your mother."

Thorin crossed over to them, a smile on his face as he said, "I have no doubt at all that your _amad_ smiles down on you—on both you boys. Perhaps this dream was her way of reminding you that she still watches over you."

"She would have loved a granddaughter," Fíli said.

"She would have spoiled her rotten," said Kíli with a chuckle.

Thorin snorted. "Boys or girls, your mother would have spoiled each and every one of her grandchildren rotten, filling them with sweets and cakes, and then happily sent them back home to you."

"No doubt Dís would be laughing about how you deserve a few dwarflings who are just like you, so you know what she went through with you two," added Dwalin.

Balin laughed and shook his head, and all the males drifted out of the kitchen again so the ladies could finish dinner. Melindë could not keep the smile from her face—she'd felt her baby move, and she loved Fíli. She could finally say it, because it was true. He had been so very selfless with her, providing for her and caring for her—loving her—and he had asked for nothing in return. She could give him nothing for the longest time but the slim hope that she _might_ one day return his love.

For so long she had been unsure if what she felt for him was real love or just gratitude that he was willing to take care of her, and in secret she had hated Ioreth all the more for ruining her ability to know what love was. But the moment she had felt the baby move, it became so much more real to her that she was going to be a mother, that there was a life beyond her own growing inside her. And in that moment she had suddenly known two things: One, that even without having seen or held this child she loved it more than her own life. Two, she loved Fíli for giving her the most precious gift she had ever known.

"Love is a many splendored thing, is it not?" murmured Larkspur from beside her.

Melindë grinned. "Aye, 'tis indeed. And ye know what? I feel… free. Like a weight 'as been lifted from me shoulders, as though I'd been carryin' a heavy burden that now is gone."

"That is the best thing about love," offered Sindri. "To give your complete love and trust to another and receive it in return is so remarkable. Because you know you don't have to worry anymore when there is always someone there for you who is so willing to help you bear the weight of your burdens, or carry them for you if need be."

"Funny how that is," Melindë mused. "I somehow knew, almost from the moment we met, that I could trust Fíli. That 'e would never hurt me. I still 'ad some fears and doubts all this time, but it were none o' it about 'im. It was _me_ I didn't trust, because I'd trusted before and got nothin' for it but pain and sufferin'. But I know now—I feel it in me bones—that I love that dwarf with all me heart."

She placed a hand over her belly and looked down at it. "Thank ye, _melliel_ , for showin' me how much I love yer _ada_."

"Do you really think you're having a girl?" Larkspur asked then.

Melindë shrugged. "Like I said, can't rightly say for certain. But I _feel_ like it's a lass."

"I feel like mine's a boy," said Larkspur as she rubbed a hand over her much more swollen stomach. "Can't rightly say why—I haven't even had any specific dreams of boys or girls, but… Like you said, I just feel it."

She smiled. "Dwalin will be thrilled either way, but I've a feeling he is hoping for a son."

Out of the corner of her eye, Melindë noticed that Princess Rejna had turned away from them. She stopped prepping the salad and walked over to where she stood stirring a pot of stew.

"Princess, are ye all right?" she asked. "I'm terribly sorry if our talkin' 'bout babies hurts ye."

"Oh, my dear, I am too!" cried Larkspur softly. "I know how much having a son will mean to you."

Rejna shook her head as she turned away from the pot and blinked back unshed tears. "Honestly? It's not even about how having a son will help secure my claim to the throne," she said. "Sure, that's still something of an issue, one that's constantly nipping at the back of my thoughts."

"Then what is it, _bahûnaê_?" asked Sindri softly.

"It's Thorin," Rejna replied. "He assured me that it was okay with him I hadn't conceived yet, that he understood these things often take time. And logically I know that, but… When I think of how he sacrificed his own happiness for the good of his people, how he gave up hope of ever having a wife or children of his own… I just can't help wanting to give him that. I love him _so much_ , and I want so desperately to see the light in his eyes when he holds his child in his arms."

Sindri crossed over to embrace her tightly, and both Melindë and Larkspur laid a hand on the dam's shoulder. "You will give your husband children, Rejna. I am sure of it."

She stood back then, saying, "I think you just need to _not_ think about it. Don't stress about conceiving to secure the throne—if what I've heard about Lord Hagen is true, he'll get his comeuppance, and that ridiculous petition for disinheritance will be torn to shreds."

"Indeed," agreed Larkspur. "Just enjoy being with Thorin, and focus on being the princess the people of this kingdom need you to be."

Rejna drew a ragged breath and blew it out in a huff. Melindë watched her force a smile, then she said, "You know what? You're absolutely right. I'll not let the whims of a bloody madman dictate how I live my life. And I do have that lovely Queen's Court that my beloved made for me to make use of."

"I think that's a splendid outlook, Princess," Melindë told her.

Rejna looked over and suddenly her smile was genuine. "You know, you and I are family now, by writ of my marriage to your husband's uncle. I do not think it improper for you to use my name."

Melindë shook her head, though she laughed as she did so. "I do nae think so. At least, nae yet. I can only jump one hurdle at a time!"

The four ladies laughed together, then hurried to finish dinner for their surely starving males.

 **-...-**

The day Rejna held audience in the Queen's Court for the first time, Melindë was there. She stood to the side, observing how the princess—her aunt by marriage!—interacted with the people who came to see her. Many of them aired grievances about the unrest that seemed to have taken over the kingdom, some expressed fear that history was repeating itself. Rejna assured them as best she could that as far as she and her father, and the rest of the council knew, the Brotherhood of Mahal was not at fault for anything—though they were certainly not ruling the possibility out.

It was fascinating watching Rejna as she threw herself into her role as Crown Princess. She genuinely cared for the people, and Melindë could tell that their complaints were taken to heart. She wasn't ignoring their pleas, she was genuinely listening to what they had to say and promising to do whatever was within her power to do to make things right.

That day of audience made the Dúnadan realize something else about herself: she was more than just 'interested' in politics. She wanted to get involved, to find ways of helping her people—for they were her people as well—beyond the education program she had convinced the council to start. She didn't know what, if anything, she could really do, however. She did not come from a noble dwarf family and therefore could hardly join the council. Fíli was still technically a prince (though thinking of herself as a princess was still beyond her ability to acknowledge), but his kingdom was ruled by another.

If nothing else, she had a great deal to think about.

When the session ended at midday, Melindë took lunch with Rejna and their ladies' group. She loved those lunches, and more and more she had begun to really feel like one of them, and not an outsider. She knew she had Fíli's love and their little one to thank for setting her free from the prison of her own creation, and every night since she'd realized she loved her husband, she had said a prayer of thanks to the Valar for bringing them together.

That afternoon the princess had training with new recruits to the army, which Thorin, Kíli, and Dwalin were to participate in. Because Fíli would be late in coming home that evening, having gone early that morning to the city of Calembel to deliver a furniture order, Melindë accepted the invitation of Belador's mother to join her at her home in the Valley, so that she could help her make more clothes for the baby. Larkspur and Sindri were invited as well, though knowing Fíli didn't want her leaving the mountain without two escorts, Gunnar had hesitated.

Sindri, being a soldier's wife, understood his commitment to duty and suggested that they see if another of the guards in the palace could join them, as none of the dwarrow from Melindë and Larkspur's family were available. Durc happened by at that moment, and spoke briefly to Gunnar about the latest intelligence report he'd just delivered to the king. On learning he had no further obligations, the ladies convinced him to join them as escort alongside his fellow soldier; Orenna's promise of a hearty meal later sealed the deal for both dwarves.

The afternoon was splendid, with Melindë catching up on all the gossip of the fishing industry since she'd left it, thanks to Orenna. She learned to make simple small tunics and trousers—simple, because she was horrible with a needle and thread—and of course she and Larkspur learned how to make nappies for the babies' bums. Even the two soldiers were kept from being idle, having been talked into fixing a hole in Orenna's roof that had opened up after the last rain a week past; with the _Morren_ out to sea at present, her sons were thus not home to fix it.

Twilight was descending before any of the ladies took note of how much time had passed. It was decided that Melindë, Sindri, and Larkspur would head back home before it got too dark, not to mention Melindë hoped to get home before Fíli and have something prepared for him to eat. After saying their goodbyes to Orenna, the woman, dwarf, and hobbit—and of course the two soldiers and little Álfir—made their way through the Valley and around the woods toward the central mountain.

When they were near, Larkspur and Asrân—for naturally the white wolf had accompanied his mistress—split off from the group and headed for the hobbit hole. Durc accompanied Sindri to the palace while Gunnar did his duty and escorted Melindë into the mountain to her apartment. When they were before the door she told him,

"Do nae stand out 'ere waitin' for me husband ta come home. I'm goin' in, lockin' the door, and stayin' in the rest o' the night."

Gunnar shook his head, though he grinned. It had become a ritual of theirs, for her to dismiss him at the door, and he to wait until she was inside and he'd heard the door lock click into place before he would walk away.

"As you say, madam," the soldier replied, gesturing to the door.

Melindë chuckled, then turned her key in the lock. Once she'd stepped around the door, she smiled at Gunnar and wished him goodnight. When the door was shut, she turned the lock and as always, he knocked twice to let her know he'd heard and was leaving.

She hurried to the fireplace, where the tinder box sat on the mantle, so that she could start lighting some candles—the Dúnadan had never been entirely comfortable in the dark, and the parlor of the apartment had no windows. Melindë had just struck a match and was holding it to a candle on the mantle when she got the sudden, foreboding sense that she was not alone.

There was time enough only to turn when suddenly there was a hand around her throat and another over her mouth. In the deep shadows pushed back only a fraction by the single candle, she had caught a glimpse of a face she had hoped never to see again:

Etten.

"Well, well," he whispered, hot breath and spittle bathing her ear. "Looks like the little whore's done well for herself—got married to the nephew of he who became a prince. Must be nice."

Fear ran in icy rivers down each nerve in her body, but it was not for herself—she'd never been afraid of a bully, and especially not a cowardly troll like Etten. But he had come here with the obvious intent to harm her, and harming her meant harming her child—the child that had brought her so much joy and love before she'd even been born.

She would _not_ allow her baby to be robbed of its future.

And so Melindë began to fight.


	68. Chapter 68

**Well, this one took a little longer, due in part to a sudden change in my work schedule, but also perhaps due to some strong material in it. But I got it done! Many thanks, as always, to my reviewers: Sparky She-Demon, readergirl4985, ValarenofGondor, Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, Readpink, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Adoniss, dojoson41, Rohirrim Girl 2187, marzieb, and Honeybee51. Thanks also to marzieb for clicking favorite and follow!**

 **dojoson41 - And hopefully I stay back, lol.**

 **Honeybee51 - Mel is definitely not giving up all that she's just gotten without a fight! As Mike Franks said in an episode of NCIS, "There's no animal more dangerous than a mamma bear when her cub is in danger." Or something to that effect...**

* * *

 **68\. Pain, Panic, Joy**

* * *

Fíli strode into the central mountain eager to get home.

His departure from Calembel had been delayed by the client insisting that he stay and have dinner before he returned to Dwarrowvale. Not wishing to offend such a generous customer—the wealthy jeweler had ordered four locking cabinets with glass doors from Grehkin, when he could have paid less for a more local furniture shop to craft the pieces—the blond dwarf had given in to his polite demand.

Still, he had hurried as fast as the wagon could go back up through the Valley. Melindë was surely waiting for him, perhaps wondering if he would even make it home that night, and he did not want to disappoint her. Not when she had so recently declared that she loved him. Oh, how those words had been music to his ears! No voice had ever been sweeter than hers when she said "I do love you".

So lost was he in his joy that he nearly missed hearing his name. Deegie, the wife of his boss, called out to him as he passed the shop. Fíli turned around and greeted her warmly and assured her that their client was more than satisfied with his purchase.

"My husband will surely be happy to hear it," she said, and it was then that he noted her wringing her hands.

"Madam Deegie, is everything all right?" he asked, frowning in concern.

"Well, Master Fíli, I've no desire at all to alarm you," she began, "but that rotten fellow what used to torment your sweet wife and is one of the scoundrels that attacked General Halvar... Well, I saw him an hour or so ago. He was skulking around the shops, but when I managed to bring one of the soldiers back here to have him arrested, he was gone. I just thought maybe I should warn you."

Already his mind was wondering where the devil the fiend had gotten off to. With a distracted wave and a mumbled "Thanks", he made his way further into the mountain. A coil of unrest settled into the pit of his stomach as he walked, becoming more and more sour with each and every step. By the time he reached the third level and turned down the corridor where his apartment was located, he had started to jog. A piercing scream that even the stone walls of the mountain could not keep silent sent him into a dead run. More than one of his neighbors' doors opened, the residents therein seeking out the source of the commotion. Fíli all but slammed into his own door in his rush to get to his wife, fear and rage burning through him like lava. The knob was locked as Mel been instructed to do when alone, and rather than fishing for his key he began to throw his shoulder into it.

" _Melindë!_ " he screamed once, twice, and on the fourth time using his shoulder as a battering ram, the aged wood around the lock gave and splintered. He threw the door open to find the most horrific scene laid out before him: overturned furniture was scattered about, and his One was on the floor beneath Etten. All of this he captured to memory in the blink of an eye; as he crossed the threshold, a wild cry escaped from Melindë and he saw a flash, a glint of light on metal as she thrust a kitchen knife into Etten's chest. Etten gasped, then suddenly fell on top of her. Melindë began to thrash beneath him, screaming words in Sindarin that Fíli did not understand. He rushed over as fast as his feet would carry him, threw Etten off to the side, and reached for his wife.

Melindë fought back, even threw a solid punch to his left eye before he managed to trap her hands against his chest, holding her tight against him. " _Ibriz_ , it's me! It's your Fíli—don't you know your Fíli?"

She fought a moment more and then suddenly stilled. Her eyes as she tipped her head back to look at him were wide and frightened. "F-Fíli?" she whispered, then her arms were around his neck, holding him in a desperate grip.

"He could have killed our baby! He could have killed our baby!" Melindë cried into his ear, her tears wetting his shoulder as she said the words over and over again, his heart breaking with every breath of her anguish.

"Come," Fíli said softly. "Let's get you to the Hall of Medicine, have a healer take a look at you."

Melindë nodded mutely, her sobs having become sniffles broken up by hiccups. Slowly he pushed to his feet, lifting her with him. A couple of their neighbors stood in the doorway with lit candles, the flickering flames displaying clearly the horrified expressions they wore. Fíli looked down and saw that Etten was gurgling up blood, the knife having been pushed in to the hilt. His wife looked down also, then swayed.

"Oh, Fíli... I do nae feel so good," she said, and he was quick to catch her as she lost consciousness and went completely limp.

Lifting her in his arms, Fíli made his way to the door. "I've sent my boy for the soldiers, Master Fíli," said the neighbor from across the hall. His response was a curt nod, his only concern getting Melindë to the healers.

 **-...-**

A loud knock caused both Thorin and Rejna to lift their heads. The two had been snuggled together on the sofa, him reading to her from an old novel. Setting the book aside, the princess sat up as he said, "I'll see who it is."

Thorin stood and walked to the door. On the other side stood not only their night guards, but a young soldier he did not recognize.

"Forgive the disturbance, Your Highnesses, but Captain Gunnar sent me for you. He says that you are needed in the Hall of Medicine straight away."

Alarm coursed through Thorin—Gunnar was his niece's bodyguard. "What happened? Is it Fíli? Melindë?"

"I-I do not know, sire. Only that I was sent to fetch you."

Turning from the door, Thorin strode to his boots and shoved his feet into them. Rejna was putting slippers on her feet as well, and then she was at his side.

"Corporal, go to the east wing and alert Captains Árni and Kíli to the situation. Send them to the Hall of Medicine," she said to the soldier, who could not be more than a decade older than Hakon. To the guards on either side of the door she said, "You two, with us."

"Forgive me, Princess," said the young officer. "But Captain Gunnar has already gone to the east wing."

The guards nodded and moved one to the front and the other to the back as Thorin and Rejna stepped out into the hall.

"Good, I would have had you find him next. Let us go now," Rejna ordered, and without another word, the young dwarf fell in behind his prince and princess and they were off.

When they reached the Hall of Medicine, Fíli was pacing outside of one of the private rooms. " _Irakdashat_ , what has happened?" Thorin asked.

"Uncle, he tried to kill her! He almost killed my baby!" his nephew said, the intense anguish in the younger dwarrow's voice leading his chest to tighten painfully in sympathy.

"Oh, Fíli!" Rejna cried softly, rushing to him and taking him into her arms. "She'll be all right—they both will. I'm sure of it."

"They have to be," Fíli replied. "They have to be. I-I've nothing to live for if I... if I lose them."

"You will not," Thorin said firmly. "The Maker would not take back the gifts he has only just given to you."

At that moment, Árni and Kíli arrived with Gunnar bringing up the rear. When Fíli saw him he lunged for the soldier, but was caught by his brother and Árni before he could get his hands around his throat.

" _Where were you?!_ " he screamed. " _You were supposed to protect her!_ "

Gunnar, Thorin noted, already looked stricken with guilt. "I swear to you, Master Fíli, I had _no_ idea that troll spawn was there!" he said. "The door was locked when I brought Madam Melindë home for the evening."

"Did you make an inspection of the apartment before allowing her to enter?" Thorin asked.

The soldier's expression became crestfallen. "No, Your Highness. I have never had reason to inspect the lady's chambers before. Every night she has dismissed me at the door, whether Master Fíli was in or not."

"I am sure that was Melindë's way of maintaining some control over her situation," Rejna suggested, her voice low and soothing. "As Etten had not been seen in the mountain before tonight, there was no real reason to have the apartment inspected."

"And though I dislike having to say it, the _kakhf ilkis_ could well have simply attacked out in the hall were she to be left there while an inspection was being done," Kíli said quietly. "As he was waiting _in_ the apartment with the door locked, he had possibly been watching and waiting for an opportunity to pick the lock and lie in wait for Mel."

Fíli groaned at his brother's words, but was distracted as two medics came around the corner with a sheet-covered litter.

"Is that him?" he asked, stepping toward the two dwarves and their burden. "I want you to give him to me—I want to kill that fecking bastard!"

"No need," said the older of the two as they paused. "He's already dead. My guess is, the knife blade pierced the bugger's heart—he bled out before we even got to him."

The family remained still, staring as the medics passed and headed around another corner for a chamber deeper in the mountain.

"Mahal be merciful," Fíli murmured. "I don't know how Melindë's going to handle this news."

"Why do you worry?" asked Kíli. "She's killed the man who tormented her for years, who just attacked her in her own home."

"Aye, brother, but although she has made many great strides of late in confidence and strength, my wife is in many ways still incredibly vulnerable," Fíli replied. "Though he was a horrible piece of garbage, he was still a living being. Taking a life, any life, will have an impact. I only pray it is not a step in the wrong direction."

It was several minutes later that a healer stepped out of the door Fíli had returned to pacing before. He stopped to face her immediately. "How is my wife? Is our baby okay?"

The healer took a breath. "Master Fíli, Madam Melindë's injuries are quite serious. She suffered two broken fingers, bruised ribs on both sides, some lacerations and abrasions, and she will have some serious bruises for the next few weeks...but she will recover."

"And what of their child?" Thorin pressed.

The healer looked to him as though just noticing he was there. She took in the sight of the gathered dwarves before her before looking back to him and bowing her head.

She then turned her gaze back to Fíli. "There are, at present, no indications that she will lose the child. But you must be prepared for it, as well as you can be, as it could still be lost. I desire she remain here for the next day and night that we may monitor her and the babe."

Fíli had paled on hearing that there was still a chance Melindë could lose the baby, and was kept from falling only because his brother still stood beside him. Thorin moved quickly to stand on his other side and they maneuvered him to a chair on the wall.

"What might happen to indicate the worst?" asked Rejna softly.

The healer glanced briefly at Fíli, who sat forward with his elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands. "Madam Melindë would begin to bleed from the birth canal, and given the stage of her pregnancy, she would experience labor. Perhaps not to the same degree as she would when giving birth, but the contractions would still be painful."

"No physical pain will ever compare to the breaking of her spirit if she should lose this child," said Fíli as he lifted his head again. "You must do absolutely everything you can for her—absolutely _everything_."

From the look on her face, Thorin could tell that the healer was thinking there was nothing else could be done except to pray. But much to his relief, she did not voice the words aloud.

 _Mahal, I beg you. Do not take Melindë and her child into your embrace_ , he pleaded silently. _Fíli would not survive the loss of them_.

 **-...-**

The opening of the door woke him, not that Fíli was getting much sleep. He glanced only briefly toward it, made note of who had entered, and returned his gaze to Melindë.

"She has not woken," he said softly. "I thought she only fainted but…"

"The night healer believes that as well, Master Fíli," said Irma, whom he knew was Princess Rejna's personal physician. "For now, it is good that she sleeps—rest will aid in her healing."

"What time is it?"

"Four bells," replied Irma as she moved to the foot of the bed in which his wife lay. "I've just come on duty, my Lord. I... I need to examine Madam Melindë."

Fíli nodded wordlessly, his eyes remaining on his beloved's face as he lifted her hand to hold the back of it against his cheek. Little attention was paid to the healer's ministrations until Melindë moaned softly; he turned sharply to look and found the healer partially hidden by the blanket that covered his wife's now bent legs. Fíli swallowed. Though he knew intellectually healers had to look at a person's private area on occasion, he'd never thought to see it happening.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Irma did not answer right away. When she finished...whatever it was she was doing...she stood and lowered Mel's legs and replaced the blanket over them. "I was checking for signs of miscarriage, such as bleeding. I am most pleased to inform you that I see none."

"Does that mean she's not going to lose our little girl?" Fíli asked.

Irma drew a breath. "I will not give you false hope, Master Fíli—it is still too early to tell. The babe may have suffered injuries of which we simply cannot be aware. I think it best that your wife remain with us until at least tomorrow morning. After that, should there be no signs of miscarriage, I will release her to go home, but I will recommend restricting her to bed rest for no less than a fortnight." She then moved to Melindë's waist on the side opposite him and folded the blanket down. She moved the shift the night healer had put on Mel and began to softly prod the small mound under which the baby was nestled.

Next she took from around her neck a long tube-shaped instrument that had what looked like Óin's ear trumpet on one end and two much smaller trumpets on the end of two shorter tubes attached to the other. Irma hooked the smaller trumpets over each ear and then held the larger one against Melindë's stomach. Her brow drew together and she moved it, then suddenly she smiled.

"What are you doing?" queried Fíli a second time.

Irma unhooked the small trumpets from her ears and held them out to him. "Put these on and hear for yourself."

Though he did not in the least understand, the confused husband nevertheless did as instructed. The healer placed the larger trumpet against his wife's belly again and his frown deepened.

"What is that…that whooshing sound? It almost sounds like…"

Irma's grin widened at the same moment that the thought occurred to him. _Could it be?_ he wondered. _Could it really be her?_

Fíli listened intently, his eyes closing as the soft, quick, continuous rhythm sounded in his ears. _By Mahal's heavenly grace_ , he thought. _It's her heart. I'm hearing my baby's heart beating_.

"How is this possible?" His voice was a whisper, for he had no desire to drown out the sound.

"The tubes are made of a very tightly woven silk lined on the inside with a thin, waxy coating, so that the sound can pass from the trumpet to the earpieces," said Irma. "For the second year of my training, I studied with a healer in Dol Amroth, that I might better learn to treat the Children of Men who would come to these halls. He used what he called a pin horn to listen to the hearts of babes who were in the womb. Naturally I was fascinated by the device, but I desired something more flexible than the wood-and-seashell instrument he had made. I've since discovered this instrument is invaluable in detecting a number of ailments with the heart, lung, and bowels, as well as monitoring the health of my patients, be they born or unborn."

Fíli listened for another minute or so before reluctantly pulling off the earpieces and handing them back to the healer. "Thank you for that. I cannot describe what a joy that was to hear."

Irma folded the tube, or rolled it really, and once more held it out. "Keep this one, for now. When your wife wakes, have her listen to the sound of your child's heart. On hearing it myself, I am further encouraged that the babe is doing well, for the little one's heart sounds strong and steady, but I still desire Melindë stay for monitoring a full day. Given the list of injuries she suffered, she survived a brutal fight. If you would take note of the lack of bruising on her abdomen, I think it safe to surmise that she curled over her child to protect it."

Fíli looked to where she gestured before he set the trumpet device aside and moved to cover Melindë back up. He'd noticed there were bruises on her face, chest, arms—even her legs—and that the night healer had said she would develop some on her back as well.

But there were none on her belly. Melindë had indeed suffered in order to protect their child. For that he could only praise her and feel the deepest pride.

 **-...-**

Melindë awoke with a cry—her recurring dream had been altered, the horror of the attack changing it. Now, the sweet afternoon in the sun was blotted out by a dark shadow, and the little babe with the dark curls simply vanished.

" _Ibriz_ , it's all right. It's all right, my love," came a familiar voice that brought her much needed relief. But not complete relief…

She looked to see Fíli's worried countenance on her right. "Oh, Fíli!" she cried, tears filling her eyes. "Our little girl! Tell me I did nae lose our little girl!"

Her husband's smile was the sweetest thing she had ever seen, and she knew the answer even before he said it. "No, Mel. Our baby girl is still with us."

Fíli then took her hand and placed it over her belly. After a moment, she felt the subtle fluttering of her child's movements. The tears fell down either side of her face. " _Á, egleria Nienna ah Estë_!"

The dwarf beside her, though surely not understanding her words, for once did not ask for a translation. Perhaps he did not need to, in his heart knowing that she was giving thanks to the Valar.

"Melindë," he said after a moment, drawing her attention to his face once more. Though still he smiled, in his eyes was an expression of caution. "The healers cannot yet say for certain that the baby will not still be lost. They say that they cannot know if she's suffered any injuries unless something happens."

"Something" being a miscarriage, she knew, and her heart squeezed painfully beneath her breast.

"H-how…" She choked, unable to force the words past her lips. But she needed to, and after a moment managed to croak out, "How long before we know?"

Fíli's expression shifted into a grimace. "A few days, perhaps a week," he replied. "However, I beg you not to dwell upon what may never happen, for Irma has said that her movement and strong heartbeat are positive signs she has come to no harm."

"I protected her, Fee, I swear I did! I did the best I could—I tried so hard ta get away from him!" Melindë cried, the tears falling more freely.

He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. " _Ibriz_ , I know. I know," he said in a voice she knew was meant to soothe. "Please try to calm yourself; getting upset is not good for either of you. As I said, thus far there have been no signs of miscarriage—we must focus on that, and continue to pray that our baby's life is spared."

"I will. I will pray with every breath," she told him firmly.

Fíli offered a smile. "As will I, my love."

A moment of silence fell, broken by her soft sniffling. Melindë at last wiped the tears from her face and looked back at her husband. "Ye said somethin' about her heartbeat. What did ye mean by that?"

A wide grin was Fíli's initial response, and then he turned to reach for something on the bedside table. Rising partway, he hooked small trumpet-like pieces over her ears and after feeling her belly a moment, placed a larger trumpet attached to tubing against her skin.

"Listen carefully," he said softly.

Melindë concentrated, taking notice of a soft rhythmic whooshing sound. Her eyes widened and she looked to Fíli to find he wore a very large smile.

"Is…is that what I think it is?" she queried.

He nodded. "You have to hold this piece in just the right spot, against the baby's back, Irma told me, or you'll hear your own heart. But what you're hearing now, that fast thump-thump-thump? _That_ is our little girl."

Melindë began to cry again, but these were tears of utter joy. A soft laugh escaped her and she reached out her hand to Fíli. He took her small fingers in his thick ones and gave hers a gentle squeeze.

"What'll we call her, Fee?"

Fíli chuckled. "What if 'she' turns out to be a 'he'?" he countered.

"Oi, there's a chance o' that I suppose," she replied. "But I believe in a mother's intuition. And I feel so strongly our babe is going ta be a lass."

"Well then, how about naming her after her own mother?" Fíli suggested.

Melindë snorted softly. " _Meleth nín_ , ye can hardly go about with two o' my name runnin' 'round ye. What if ye want me, but she turns up when ye call out?"

He laughed at that. "Then what do you suggest? Have you a name already in mind?"

"As a matter o' fact, I do. After what yer brother and uncle and ye talked about the other day at the family dinner, when we first felt her move, I thought… Well, I was going ta suggest… well, that is ask ye… if ye might want ta give her yer _nana_ 's name."

Fíli blinked. "You mean to say you'd like to name her after my mother?"

"Well, yes," she said. "By all accounts, yer _naneth_ was a mighty strong dam. And if my dream comes true and she ends up looking like her, it would be an honor for our daughter ta have a strong name ta go with her strong heritage."

"Our daughter's own mother is a mighty strong lass herself," her husband said with a smile. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you will be just fine, and that our little girl is defying the odds every moment that passes."

She watched him tilt his head to the side in thought then. "How about a compromise?"

"Such as?"

"I would name our daughter after her own mother, and you would name her after mine," Fíli began. "What say you to a combination of your names?"

"But how would ye combine them?" Melindë asked.

Fíli fell silent, and she could tell he was working out the possibilities on his mind. After a moment he grinned at her. "Meldís."

"Meldís," she repeated. And then she smiled. "Meldís… I like it! It sounds Dwarvish, but in a way also Dúnedain."

Melindë looked down then toward her belly and said, "Ye'd better be a lass, little one, because I've nae any idea what I'd call ye if ye turn out ta be a boy!"

Fíli laughed again, and Melindë joined him. It felt so very good to laugh with him, the combination of sound keeping her fears at bay.

* * *

 **Sindarin:**

 _Á, egleria Nienna ah Estë! -_ Oh, glory to Nienna and Estë!

 **Note:**

Nienna is the Vala of mercy and Estë the Vala of healing.


	69. Chapter 69

**I got another one done! Struggled a bit with it, but here ya go my faithful readers! Thanks as always to all of you, especially those who left a review on the last chapter: readergirl4985, Sparky She-Demon, ThatOtherWriterGirl, thewolf74, marzieb, Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, djhay4, dojoson41, and Adoniss. Also big thanks to ajg0001 for clicking the Follow button!**

 **This chapter might seem a bit disjointed, but it's in part because of my attempts to move things along in time. Bear with me, I promise exciting things are coming soon!**

* * *

 **69\. Coming Along**

* * *

It was sometime after she woke—most of which Melindë spent listening to the sound of the baby's heart—that the Dúnadan asked Fíli what had become of Etten. The blond dwarf was, for a moment, tempted to take the advice of his brother and keep the truth from her, to say that he had killed the wretch, but Melindë would figure it out eventually. She always seemed to know when he was holding back.

So he told her the truth. She had cried, and worried that she would face charges and have to birth their child in a jail cell. Fíli had done his best to assure her otherwise—reminding her that she had been defending herself and their little one—but Melindë would not be consoled. Not until King Ragin himself had paid visit alongside Thorin and Rejna and assured her that she had nothing to worry about.

A conversation that was had concerning the attack Fíli made sure was conducted out of his wife's hearing. All the males in the family, as well as Lords Tryg and Eirik, and the investigator Durc, were called to a meeting in the king's private chambers.

"I want to know, one way or another, whether the attack on Lady Melindë has anything to do with the unrest in this kingdom," Ragin began. "In other words, was Lord Hagen ultimately behind it, as we suspect him to be behind everything else?"

Durc shook his head. "I do not think so, my Lord," he said. "From what I learned of him—and from my interrogations of the other suspects involved in General Halvar's attack—while Etten was definitely hired to commit the assault against the general, his actions of last evening were solely of his own doing."

"So you mean to say that he acted of his own volition?" pressed Fili.

The other dwarf nodded. "He may well have been one of Hagen's minions, but the attack on your wife had nothing to do with Halvar or the Brotherhood, or whatever other plans Lord Hagen may have in store."

Fíli blew out a disgusted snort. "I had a feeling that might be the case. He came after Melindë simply because he disliked her, and likely hoped to disguise it as just another attack on a mixed marriage."

"Speaking of," put in Thorin. "Are we truly certain the Brotherhood is not involved in the disruptions throughout Dwarrowvale? I will not see my kin or the people of this kingdom living in fear."

Ragin nodded approvingly at his words, as Eirik said, "My Prince, I am beginning to suspect that the rumors may well be true. In my own secret investigations, conducted by a dwarf I trust most implicitly, there has been heard talk of the Brotherhood coming in to 'clear out the rabble'."

"And just when were you going to inform us of this separate investigation, Lord Eirik?" asked the king.

A chastised expression fell over the Westrock lord's countenance and he bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect or deceit," he began, then looked to Durc. "And though we are of the same clan, I admit that I was not entirely certain where your loyalties lay, as you are little known to me, Master Durc. You have my sincerest apologies for doubting you."

Durc shrugged. "I take no offense, my Lord. The inner circle of the royal families is a tight one, and to admit an outsider is a change I can imagine is difficult to make. I can only give to you all my word of honor that my loyalty to the realm is absolute. His Majesty has served the people of this kingdom exceedingly well during his reign. The people have prospered, the rate of crime low. Only recently has there been disruption to the peace in _Khazad-dubanu_."

"Only recently," muttered Thorin. "You mean since my kin and I came into residence. You think we are to blame for the changes that have taken place."

"Oh Uncle, be reasonable!" said Kíli. "None of this can be blamed on us... Can it?"

"Hardly, my Lord," said Tryg. "Knowing Hagen as well as I do, this all would have transpired with or without you. He's had his eye on the throne for years—Mahal making it known to both the princess and your uncle that they were made for each other has only forced him to play his hand."

"Something tells me that if not for Lady Greti," said Dwalin around his pipe, "Hagen might well have tried to take Rejna himself."

Thorin bristled angrily at the absurdity of the notion, though he could not say the thought had not also crossed his own mind. "My wife," he ground out, "would _never_ have accepted the union."

"Certainly not, my son," said Ragin. The king then turned to Lord Eirik. "Tell me, Eirik, who is it that you trust so implicitly? What have they discovered besides talk?"

Eirik swallowed. "'Tis my eldest daughter, sire. Eirika has a way with people—she always has. They open up to her, feel comfortable sharing with her. Though she has disguised herself and feigned being a Brotherhood sympathizer to learn much of this recent information."

"Which is what?" Thorin pressed.

The Westrock lord looked to him. "That the Brotherhood is indeed active again, my Prince. That the reason for the prisoners' silence—those who attacked you and the ones who assaulted General Halvar—is because they are members of the Brotherhood."

"That would explain the dwarves' silence," observed Balin. "But what of the men?"

"In our histories, Master Balin," began Ragin, "there are tales of men who did the bidding of the Brotherhood, either by method of bribery or threats to their families."

"What about Hagen?" asked Kíli. "Is he behind all this or is the Brotherhood behind it?"

"I think it's both, _naddith_ ," answered Fíli. "We've already suspected the git to be one of them. It's likely when things didn't go according to his initial plan, he called in some favors and got others set on rousing the rabble."

"What disturbs me the most is that they are involving children in their schemes," said Tryg. "I cannot tell you the number of reports set on my desk daily about harassment going on betwixt children of pure dwarf and mixed parentage. I thought we had moved far beyond such behaviors since the time of Tors."

"We have," stated the king firmly. "I will not allow this foolishness—or one dwarf's mad desires—to destroy the peace that has been built over nearly fifteen hundred years."

A meeting was thus arranged between Durc and Eirika, that the two might combine their efforts to get to the bottom of the unrest and possibly reveal some of the leaders or otherwise force the Brotherhood to tip their hand. The unspoken hope was that someone, at some point, would name Hagen as the organizer of the unrest so that an official investigation into his affairs could be initiated.

On the breakup of the meeting, Kíli sought leave to go with Fíli back to the Hall of Medicine to visit with Melindë. Thorin dismissed him to go with his brother and sent Bahûna along knowing that she and Thafar would cheer up his niece further. He then relieved Dwalin of his duties for the rest of the afternoon. When the warrior questioned him, he reminded his longtime friend that he had a wife who would be only too pleased to see him, and gave his word he would not attempt to leave the castle without an armed escort.

Once Dwalin had relented and taken his leave, Thorin left the king's chambers and headed for his own. With each step his irritation deepened, the thought of Hagen desiring Rejna for his own burning a painful hole in his gut. He had no doubt that his dam would have turned Hagen down flat, but just the _idea_ that he might put his hands on her in an attempt to seduce her…

By the time he reached his and Rejna's suite, he was in quite a state. He found her there, once more wearing the "battle dress" she had donned for their sparring match at the wedding. His body was instantly on fire, and he shut the door behind him a little too forcefully.

Rejna looked up from where she sat at her writing desk. "Someone's in a foul mood," she said. "What has you so fit to be tied?"

"Take of your clothes," said Thorin, as he began to untie his tunic.

Her eyebrows lifted as she watched him stalking toward her. "I think not. I do love you, Thorin, but if you really think I'm—"

"You mistake me, Princess," he told her as he discarded his shirt and moved on to removing his belt. "It was not a request."

Rejna huffed as she stood, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. "Oh really? Do you mean to force me?"

He shook his head, his hands now working to untie his trousers. "I am your husband. It is your duty to submit to me that we might conceive an heir—or have you forgotten that we must have a son before our marriage is a year old?"

With each word he had taken a step closer, forcing the princess to back up against the wall. Now she was trapped there, between his nearly naked body and the stone of the mountain. Her wide eyes and shallow breathing, the way she licked her lips, told him quite clearly that she was not as averse to his methods as she had so feebly protested.

"Besides," Thorin went on, reaching under her skirt to tear at her undergarments; he grabbed her arse in his hands next and lifted her, pushing inside her as he concluded, "the willing cannot be forced."

 **-...-**

He'd taken her hard and fast up against the wall before moving over to her desk and swiping it clear so he could lay her on its surface. By the time they made it to the bedroom, they were both nude, biting and hair pulling and scratching like animals. Both of them were immensely satisfied and completely drained of energy when at last the wild session of lovemaking came to its end. Thorin had, in truth, enjoyed letting loose and taking what he wanted, had enjoyed Rejna not being too shy to do the same. But a nagging seed of guilt had somehow found its way into his mind, and he was suddenly ashamed to be lying next to her.

"What is it, _amrâlumê_?" she asked as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

Thorin drew a breath. "Forgive me, Princess."

He heard her sit up behind him. "Forgive you? For what?"

"For forcing myself on you in such a beastly manner. I was angry and it had nothing to do with you—my behavior was unconscionable. I give you my word it shall not happen again."

Rejna moved to sit beside him.

"Now Thorin, I would not go that far." He looked to her with surprise. "You didn't do anything to me I did not want you to do—the willing cannot be forced, remember?"

Thorin blinked and studied her features for signs she was simply placating him. He found none. "Are you saying… that you…?"

She nodded and smiled. "I liked it very much, yes. I cannot speak for the females you have bedded in the past, but I think I am one of variable tastes when it comes to intimacy. There are times I shall want to be romanced, and taken to the heights of ecstasy slow and easy. Perhaps that will be most times. But I confess that I have dreamt in secret of being wed to one who is not afraid to show his inner beast with me, as then I am able to show mine."

Thorin chuckled and glanced at his shoulder, and also raised a hand to his still-sore head and rubbed it. "Show her you did, my Lady."

Rejna grinned as she reached over to take his other hand. "I think, perhaps, that we need to talk about just what it is we do and do not like. Then there will be no need to feel as if you have done anything wrong, nor will there be any surprises."

A lascivious grin made its way slowly onto his lips as he looked at her. "No surprises, you say? Are you certain you do not wish there to be some things that surprise you?"

He could tell she was fighting a smile of her own. "Like what, my Prince?"

"Like this!" he said, and pushed her playfully back onto the bed.

Neither was quite sure later where they found the energy, but find it they did.

 **-...-**

When it came time for Melindë's release to go home, Fíli got her all the way to the door of the apartment before she stopped him. He noted she was breathing heavily, and when he asked her what was wrong, she explained that she just couldn't do it—she could not return to the place where she had barely survived a nightmare, where she had taken a man's life in order to save her own. When he suggested they might move into her old home, Melindë confessed that though it had only been a few months since last she'd lived in it, the house where she'd grown up, that she had fought to keep so she'd not be homeless…didn't feel like home anymore.

Rather than argue with her, Fíli carried his wife—for she was not allowed to walk anywhere—all the way to the palace, and sought audience with his uncle. The younger dwarf explained that Melindë was refusing to return to their apartment, for which he could hardly blame her, and felt she could not call her old house home anymore—so they needed a temporary place to stay until he could secure more permanent lodgings. Immediately Thorin and Rejna looked to one another, and in unison announced they were welcome to reside in the palace for as long as they liked. Fíli and Melindë agreed, and the princess even arranged for a private nurse to tend Mel during her recuperation.

Though Melindë very much appreciated the kindness of her aunt- and uncle-by-marriage, living in the palace didn't feel quite right either. So she broached the subject with Fíli one evening about his possibly building a home for them, something new that was unspoiled and would only be filled with happy memories. Fíli found he was quite keen on the idea, and countered with whether or not she would like a house like those in the valley or perhaps one like Dwalin had built for Larkspur. She was delighted with the idea of a hobbit house, though reminded him the ceilings might need to be a wee bit higher to accommodate Belador and Oradir and the men of the _Morren_ crew when they visited.

And so it was that Fíli sought a bit of land on which to build his wife a home. It so happened that a good-sized plot was available just across the River Ringlo from his cousins, and it happened to include a sizable hill that he knew could be incorporated into the structure of the house. Fíli purchased the plot right away, and he and Belador, their brothers, and Dwalin and Balin, set about first building a bridge, so that the river—not as wide at its beginning as it was where it met the Ciril—could be traveled across with ease. A crew was then hired to get the house underway, and it was Fíli's hope to have it ready for Melindë by Yuletide or the Men's New Year.

 **-...-**

As Yuletide drew closer, Rejna could sense that something was different. Not just her relationship with her husband—which had become exciting and stimulating when they found time to be alone together—but with herself. She was more sensitive emotionally, her temper even shorter than was her norm. There were days she had little to no patience whatsoever.

It did not bother her much at first, being honest with herself, as there were many things going on in the kingdom which could have contributed to her heightened emotional state. But on the day she nearly wrestled her handmaiden to the ground for a sweet cake as Telka was setting the table for lunch in her private suite, she began to take notice. Not only was she acting different, she was eating different—eating more. Eating things she didn't normally care for. Eating more often.

She constantly felt like she was starving.

It was annoying, this feeling of never feeling full or satisfied with her food. Always wanting more of it. Her father and her husband were growing worried about her, she knew, but her snapping at them to "Leave me the hell alone!" put an end to them voicing their concerns.

Didn't stop them looking at her oddly when they thought she was unaware. And that irked her further.

Then came the day that everything changed. Thorin, apparently deciding he'd had enough of her errant behavior, took her by the arm and marched her down to the Hall of Medicine. Rejna had tried to protest, to break free of his grasp, but her husband was having none of that. He was determined that the healers have a look at her and find out what was wrong. She knew he suspected poison—"I wouldn't put it past that bastard Hagen to find a way," he'd said—and in truth, the princess wanted to know just as much as he what was going on. She was secretly frightened that something was very wrong, something terrible that would result in her eventually becoming an invalid or dying.

Nothing could have prepared her for what Irma revealed.

A chuckle was the healer's first reaction after she finished her examination. "Oh, Princess… I should not be surprised your bullheaded brain has not already discerned the cause of your condition."

Rejna frowned as she began to redress herself. "Irma, if I did not know you as well as I do, I would have you thrown in the dungeons for the evening for such an insult," she said irritably. "Be clear in your speech, Healer, and tell me what the _razâd_ is going on. I'm not being poisoned, am I?"

"Only if you consider your husband's seed poison."

"My husband's… Say _what_?" Rejna asked, confusion marring her brow.

Irma laughed again and smiled. "Princess, you have nothing to be concerned about, save for managing your diet and decorum. Your condition will relieve itself in about nine months."

Rejna's eyes widened. "Nine months! I can't be sick that long! Nine months is…"

And then it dawned on her exactly what the healer was getting at, and she felt like an utter fool for not thinking of it before.

"Oh, Mahal be merciful," she muttered. "I'm pregnant."


	70. Chapter 70

**Check it out, my fellow Middle-earthians: we've reached chapter 70! Thank you so very, very much to every single one of you who has hung around this long, wanting to know what happens next. I sincerely hope that the story has always entertained and delighted you, even if you don't entirely agree with something I write, and that you will stick around for everything that is still to come!**

 **Great big shout out to the following for being kind enough to leave me a review of chapter 69: Sparky She-Demon, Adoniss, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Rohirrim Girl 2187, readergirl4985, Robinbird79, Celebrisilweth, djhay4, Dearreader, ValarenOfGondor, and Emina! Big thanks also go to Katt8500 and Bluejayway123 for clicking the favorite/follow buttons!**

 **Dearreader - Good news indeed. Hope you like the news in this chapter!**

 **Emina - I can't tell you how happy I am that you're still following my story and that you're still enjoying it so much!**

* * *

 **70\. Glorious News**

* * *

Stunned at first that she had been so blind, Rejna suddenly laughed.

She next surprised Irma by throwing her arms around her longtime friend and physician. "Oh, Irma! Do you know what this means?!" she said excitedly.

Irma returned the embrace warmly. "I do, Princess. You are going to be a mother."

Rejna stood back. "It's more than that—so much more!" she exclaimed softly. "It means this child will be born before the end of my first year of marriage, and if it is a son—Mahal willing—my claim to the throne is secure!"

The healer snorted derisively. "I say your claim is already secure and that Lord Hagen is a pompous fool."

The princess did not hear her, her eyes now focused on the door to the private exam room, on the other side of which was a likely pacing Thorin. "Even more," she said, her voice deeper as emotion began to overwhelm her, "even more than that, it means that my darling husband will have his heart's greatest desire, one he thought long ago forsaken to him."

Rejna looked to the other dam then. "Will you show him in? I would like to speak to Thorin in private."

Irma smiled softly and nodded. "Of course, Your Highness."

The healer then walked to the door as Rejna was finishing the buttoning of her tunic. When she opened the door, Thorin immediately barked a question at her, asking what was taking so long and wondering "what misfortune has befallen my wife" in the same breath. Irma replied only that "Her Highness wishes to speak with you alone, sire" and moved past him as he stepped through the door.

Thorin pushed the aged wood closed and stepped over to Rejna, who stood leaning against the bed, trying to settle her suddenly jangling nerves.

" _Amrâlimê_ , what is it?" he asked her as he moved to stand in front of her. "I beg you, tell me what ails you. Mahal does not call you to him, does he? No—he would not do that to me, not after all but forcing me to accept his will that we are meant for each other."

He paused and took a breath, and laid his hands on her shoulders. "We will get through this together, my darling princess."

"I should hope so," she said, opening her eyes at last. "For I officially designate midnight cravings to be your responsibility—no matter how mad you may think me."

Thorin frowned. "Midnight cravings?" he queried, his confusion evident. "My love, why would you…?"

And then his eyes widened, his gaze falling to her midsection though even he had to know that she would not begin showing for another three to four months.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Rejna nodded, the emotions that had been building up spilling over as happy tears fell from her eyes. "Irma confirmed it. A child, Thorin—you're going to be a father, my love!"

"A bairn? We're going to have a wee bairn?" he asked, echoing the words of his cousin from just a few months past.

The princess nodded again. And then suddenly she found herself wrapped up in a tight embrace, her husband's mouth over hers. Rejna kissed Thorin back, held him just as tightly.

"Thank you," he said when he released her. "I cannot express in words the depth of my feeling at this moment."

She lifted a hand to cup his cheek. "There is no need for you to try, for I can see a glimpse of your heart in your eyes. I feel the same emotion in my own heart, _Amrâlumê_ , and know that it will expand a hundred-fold once our child is in my arms."

Rejna took his hand and placed it over her womb. "In here lies our future, Thorin. A son or daughter of Blacklock and Durin blood, conceived in love and happiness."

Thorin lifted his eyes from where their hands lay to capture her gaze with his own. "And this child will be born in a time of peace, on that you have my solemn vow, Princess," he said. "I will make our kingdom safe again—for our child, the children of our kin, and all those yet to come for our people."

A smile lifted her lips as she moved her other hand to his neck and drew his head down so that his brow touched hers. "Of that, my Prince, I have no doubt."

They stood that way in silence for a long moment, simply enjoying the love and happiness they were feeling, before acknowledging that those awaiting them outside in the hall were likely getting anxious. Thorin took her hand in his and laced their fingers together and Rejna smiled up at him as they walked to the door.

In the hall, she was surprised to see that not only were their guards present, but that Fíli had turned up as well. She looked to Thorin to find him looking down at her, and she gave him a subtle nod.

Drawing a breath, he looked to their kin and friends. "It is with greatest joy that I share with you the news that Dwarrowvale will soon have a new prince or princess."

Shouts of joy echoed down the hall, and Rejna watched, laughing, as Thorin head-butted each of the dwarrow before them. When he was finished, Fíli turned to his brother and Árni turned to Dag.

"Pay up, little brother," Fíli said to Kíli.

"Like he said, mate, pay up," said Árni to Dag.

The two reluctantly pulled small bags off their belts and handed them over. "You were betting on me, Captain?" Rejna demanded of her longtime bodyguard. "Again?"

"I am beginning to think I ought send my kin away from here," Thorin groused. "They have been naught but a bad influence on you."

Árni laughed as he hefted the little bag in his hand. "Come now, Princess. My Prince. Fíli and I, and Lord Commander Dwalin, are each of us married to a female who has been or is pregnant. We know the signs, so of course we had to bet that you were with child. Dag here bet that you were merely excessively hormonal during a monthly bleed."

The younger dwarrow colored a deep crimson and looked determinedly away from where Rejna stood. She found she could only laugh—that had actually been the case more than once in the past.

"Do not worry, Dag, I'll not hold it against you," she told him. "Come now, my friends, I must go and share with my father this good news. And find something to eat, I'm starving!"

They found her father in his private chambers; that he was being attended by Danug, his own private physician, caused Rejna to frown.

" _Adad_ , is everything all right?" she asked as the healer bowed to her and Thorin and took his leave.

Her father waved off her concern. "'Tis nothing, _Nâtha_. Just a touch of congestion," he said. "But what's this I have heard from Danug that your mate dragged you down to the Hall of Medicine this morn?"

Rejna felt heat in her cheeks (her father's physician had passed them on his way out of the Hall) and was about to reply when she was distracted by the breakfast spread on the table across the room. Reminded then of how famished she was, she made a beeline for it and began to fill a plate with a little of everything that looked good—which was pretty much all of it—and nearly laughed out loud for not realizing her increased hunger was a result of pregnancy, a change all dams endured when with child. She'd been around enough of them to know, and it had still not occurred to her.

Behind her she heard her father say, "You know, Thorin, this behavior of my daughter's is very familiar. I'm suddenly reminded of how her dear mother behaved when she first…"

When his voice fell off, Rejna turned around to find him staring with wide eyes—and not because she had a sweet roll slathered with jam in her mouth.

"Rejna! Thorin! Are you…? Am I going to be…?"

The princess swallowed the bite she'd taken as quick as she could, the excitement that now shown in her father's eyes making her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She set down the roll on her plate and walked over to him, taking his hands in hers as Thorin moved to stand beside her.

"I am and you are," she said with a smile, tears of joy filling her eyes once more. "My husband and I are going to have a child, _Adad_."

A loud cry issued from the king, and then suddenly she was wrapped tightly in her father's arms. When he released her he kissed her brow, and then shook hands with Thorin before he gave him a mighty headbutt.

"Oh, my son! My beautiful daughter! How happy you have made me—this is indeed glorious news!" her father said. "The Heir of Durin is _my_ grandchild! Being born of two of the noblest clans, I have no doubt your son will make a mighty king!"

"As beneficial as a son would be, _Adad_ , I could just as easily be carrying a daughter," Rejna cautioned.

"Should that be the case, we will fight as hard, if not harder, for our daughter to receive her due inheritance," Thorin said. "And I will get to be as overprotective a father as no doubt yours was over you."

Her husband looked to her then, an expression of wonder and amazement in his eyes. "I can hardly believe that I may now say the words. But say them I will, and thankful for this gift I will be with every breath: I am going to be a father. Mahal be praised, _Amrâlimê_ , for it was his pleas to Sulladad which brought us together."

"Indeed, my love, and much gratitude shall be given to the Maker," Rejna replied as she looked up at him with a smile. "But I like to believe we would still have met, even had your destiny not been altered as it was. For we were meant to be together, you and I—only the circumstances of our meeting was changed."

Thorin smiled as he drew her against his side. "I like to imagine that as well, Princess."

"Forgive my saying so on this happy day, but I also wish fate had not been so wretchedly interfered with," said her father, drawing their gazes to him. "My son, what I said before still stands: I understand and accept your reasons for keeping your identity secret. But I must admit to some small belief that had you not had your destiny altered, or decided that anonymity was key to the safety of your kin, that much would be different."

Thorin nodded. "Aye, my Lord, much would be different. And much would likely be the same. The Brotherhood has long been led by racist zealots, and Hagen would still have descended into madness. In the absence of your daughter and—forgive me, my love—a strong dwarrow by her side, I feel certain that he would have made a more direct attempt to usurp the throne from Blacklock rule."

Her father nodded slowly. "Aye, I suppose you are right about that. But if I may ask—just this once, and I shall then leave the matter settled—are you ever going to come forward as who you really are?"

When he looked down at her, Rejna offered her husband an encouraging smile. Thorin drew a breath and looked toward the grand balcony, where the doors stood open to let in the breeze.

"Once I thought never to reveal myself. I believed secrecy to be paramount to preserving the new futures given to my sister-sons," he said slowly. Then he turned his crystal-blue gaze to her once more, returning her smile before his expression sobered and he looked to her father.

"It will happen, one day. Some incident will force me out of hiding and the whole world will know that Thorin Oakenshield is reborn—my friends and my enemies. I feel it in my bones that the day is coming, and not like to be far off. But until then, I would rather like to enjoy my anonymity for as long as it will last. Though I am once again called to a position of rule, and thus am pressured by all that has happened since my coming to these lands as well as what the future may yet hold, I feel the burden not quite so suffocating as before."

The king snorted softly. "I suspect, my boy, that it is due in no small part to your not being responsible for all of dwarfdom, as once you were," he said.

Rejna gave his waist a squeeze. "You are the mighty Thorin Oakenshield, my love—are you sure one little kingdom will be enough for you?"

Thorin laughed. " _Amrâlimê_ , I would have been quite content had you been a farmer's daughter rather than a future queen. I was quite resolved, you know, to living a pauper's life—was looking forward to it, even. I assure you, Rejna, one kingdom is more than enough. Dáin is more than welcome to the headache of being in charge of the seven kingdoms."

At that the three of them laughed, and then they sat down together to the grand breakfast spread…of which Rejna ate the largest part.

 **-...-**

The news of a new prince or princess coming spread, as often happened, like fire to dry tinder. Thorin and Rejna received congratulations wherever they went, as well as many wishes for the health of mother and child. Rejna was given loads of advice from all her friends, and from many other females she didn't know. Thorin, too, was offered suggestions on how to handle the first days, months, even years of parenthood, to which he nodded politely and gave his thanks…all the while knowing that absolutely none of it was necessary. He'd already raised two children, though it had been sometime since either Fíli or Kíli were in nappies. He surmised he had plenty of time to get used to that part again as Dwalin and Fíli's children were due to arrive months before his own.

Truth be told, he could not stop smiling. Whenever his child was mentioned in conversation, he would grin and thank Mahal for the blessing that had been bestowed on him. He vowed every day that passed he would be grateful for and appreciate every moment he had in this new life with his wife and child, and that he would show them every day how precious they were to him. Watching his bride move almost seamlessly from the training ring to a more administrative role with the army, watching her body grow and change as their offspring grew inside her, he became so very much aware of how they were worth more to him than his grandfather's entire horde.

Though the people expressed happiness for their expanding family, with many saying it was a great blessing to have a child within the first year of marriage, there was, of course, one dwarrow who was not quite so pleased. When Rejna's pregnancy was officially announced at the first council meeting of the new year, Hagen had scowled openly. He offered no congratulations of any kind, and in fact dismissed the news with a wave of his hand and a change of subject. The Eastfell lord announced that, because his options were so few, he had decided to reinstate Halvar as his heir—but with one caveat: He would say nothing about with whom he chose to spend his time so long as he sired a male heir of his own with a dam of pure noble blood. This would mean Halvar having to publicly wed a female and keep his male lovers in secret, instead of living openly in such a relationship.

Because he was still in recovery from his injuries, Halvar had not attended that meeting, and though Hagen had given his assurances that his son had agreed to the terms, the fact that he had only been seen in the central mountain for council meetings gave the other members doubts as to the veracity of the claim. Rejna declared she would speak to Halvar herself to learn of his feelings on the matter, and later reported to her father and Thorin that the general was not completely agreed as his father had professed he was. Halvar had no wish to live a lie or shackle any female into a loveless marriage, but he understood that with the power of the Eastfell lordship behind him he could do some good in Dwarrowvale.

"Perhaps even right some of the wrongs my father has wrought," he had said.

King Ragin gave his word to Halvar that he would have as much time to decide his future as his father had been given to settle the matter of his heir. The younger dwarrow was grateful for the kindness, and spent many days and nights in discussion with his mother on the subject.

In the middle of February, on a morning that followed a brutal nighttime storm, Larkspur Took of the Shire went into labor. Dwalin panicked and in his haste to fetch a healer put on his trousers backward. Larkspur, calm still as her water had only just broken, laughed at her husband's foolishness and pointed out his error, before sending him along. Asrân kept her company as the contractions began soon after he departed, howling softly whenever she would moan.

When Dwalin returned, he was not only in the company of a healer, but Rejna and Thorin as well, and their bodyguards. Kíli was sent across the river to pass the news on to Fíli and Melindë, and surprised no one when he returned with his brother and the very pregnant Dúnadan in tow. Both Melindë and Rejna were conscripted into service in the bedroom while Dwalin was banished from it to wait with the other males.

Balin tried to get him to eat as the hours passed, to drink ale even, but the warrior was not to be comforted. He could only pace and smoke his pipe, and groan in anguish at every little sound that passed through the bedroom door. When they heard Larkspur scream, it took the combined efforts of Kíli, Fíli, Thorin, and Árni to keep him from bursting in to rescue her.

They had just settled him in a chair when they heard the door open. Moments later Melindë stepped into the parlor. "Though Madam Irma insists 'tis against dwarf custom, Larkspur 'as requested Dwalin's presence," she said. "Apparently 'tis the tradition o' hobbits that the fathers are present for the birth o' their children."

"Irma is right, dwarves do not attend birthing," said Balin. "However, as the mother has made the request, we can hardly deny her. Behave in there, brother."

He had pointed his finger in Dwalin's face as he said the last, to which the younger brother could only nod. He stood automatically and followed Melindë back to the bedroom as though in a trance—none of them had expected this development.

"Who cares to bet that the old grizzly bear faints?" said Thorin.

"Your Highness!" Árni challenged him, though he grinned. "And here I thought you were now against taking wagers on such matters."

"When it comes to my own wife, yes," Thorin returned. "But you don't know Dwalin like I do. He may well act fierce, but at heart he is a softie."

Árni looked to Balin, who shrugged. "'Tis true, laddie. Put him in the presence of females or children, and he's as cuddly as they come. Not, er, that you ever heard me say such a thing."

The others laughed and wagers were laid, and they sat with pipes and ale and food awaiting the arrival of the first dwarf-hobbit child ever.

 **-...-**

When he entered the room, there was little sign of the gore he'd heard horror stories about, for which he was thankful. Though her legs were bent, Larkspur's lower half was covered with a thin blanket. Dwalin immediately focused on his beautiful wife, who sat resting—for the moment—on a stack of pillows. Her curly hair was plastered to her forehead and perspiration still beaded there; it appeared Melindë's function was to wipe her brow. The healer Irma was seated on a stool at the end of the bed, and Princess Rejna sat on the bed next to Larkspur, on her left.

Dwalin took the chair Melindë indicated, immediately grasping the hand Larkspur held out. "I know it's not what dwarves do," she said. "But I wanted you here. I _need_ you here."

"Then I am happy to serve, my lady," he said, before touching his lips to the back of her hand.

Her fingers squeezed his own hard a moment later, and Rejna moved to sit behind Lark, propping her into a sitting position, as Irma announced the baby was crowning.

"What does that mean?" he asked over his shoulder.

"It means, Lord Commander, that I can see your child's head," the healer replied. "It will not be long now—only a few more pushes, Larkspur."

"Better be only a few—I don't know how much more of this I can take," Larkspur managed through clenched teeth. "I just… I keep telling myself it's worth it in the end. It'll be worth it in the end."

"Is the pain truly so great?" Dwalin asked.

When Larkspur had fallen back against Rejna, gasping to catch her breath, Irma then said, "If you have ever had a stone pass through your shaft, Lord Commander… Well, I've been told by males it feels like giving birth."

The warrior shuddered. He had indeed passed stones before, recollecting it as being one of the most unpleasant experiences of his life—one he'd prayed to Mahal he never had to repeat. If that was indeed what labor was like for a female, then it was truly a miracle any of them ever allowed their husbands to touch them again, let alone that they willingly suffered through multiple births.

Larkspur was squeezing his hand again, and it actually hurt a little. "Soon, _Kardûna_ ," he whispered, hoping that his voice soothed her. He picked up the cloth sitting on the bedside table and patted her sweaty brow. Oh, how it tore him apart to see her in such pain. "Soon our little one will be here."

"Indeed—the shoulders are coming!" cried Irma.

"Those are some big bloody shoulders!" yelled Larkspur.

"Hold your breath and push, push hard!" the healer directed her.

" _I am pushing!_ "

Dwalin had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, knowing that Larkspur would not appreciate brevity in this moment. He instead wiped at her brow again, and prayed for it to be over quickly so her suffering would be at an end.

Larkspur screamed long and loud, and then she fell back against Rejna with a heavy sigh. Seconds later he heard a soft, wet gurgle, and without hesitation he turned to look. Irma was just lifting the slippery-looking, wriggling infant by the feet, smacking softly on its bottom, until it gave a lusty cry.

Tears filled his eyes, and the squeeze he felt from Larkspur was returned. Dwalin watched in fascination as the baby was laid on his wife's stomach, at which time Irma proceeded to use the blanket to clean it.

"Is…is it a lad or a lass?" he managed through the sudden constriction of his throat.

"Yes, tell us!" said Larkspur. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Irma smiled, and moving her hands away she said, "Look for yourself, my Lord."

Dwalin stood and moved closer. The baby at that moment kicked aside the still-attached umbilical cord, revealing the gender clearly. He looked to Larkspur as tears fell, as unadulterated joy the likes of which he had never felt before spread through him.

"It's a boy. You were right, my beautiful _Kardûna_ —we have a son!"


	71. Chapter 71

**So many lovely responses to chapter 70! Thanks ever so much to Robinbird79, Sparky She-Demon, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Guest, readergirl, Adoniss, Rohirrim Girl 2187, readpink, yshxf, and marzieb for your enthusiastic reviews. Thanks also to S02blom for clicking that follow button!**

 **Guest - Thorin as a daddy will definitely be high on the cute-o-meter! I can hardly wait to get there myself!**

* * *

 **71\. Amad**

* * *

While Rejna took charge of cleaning the baby, Irma returned her attention to Larkspur.

Dwalin, the hobbit saw, was overcome with emotion—so much so that he looked as if he were about to collapse.

"My love, come and sit before you fall over," she advised him tiredly.

Dwalin, at the moment, only had eyes for the infant across the room, being tended to carefully by the princess and Melindë. "I want to hold him," he said, his voice low as though he were in a daze, or afraid to speak too loudly. "I want to hold my son."

"Just a few moments more, Lord Commander," Rejna called over her shoulder.

"Dwalin," Larkspur said, her voice a little more firm this time. "Come and sit."

With a sigh he moved to do as she asked, but when he made to sit in the chair again, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. Immediately he got the idea and sat himself on the edge of the bed as well as he could, lifting her so that she lay with her back to his chest.

"Oh, my love," Larkspur began as she turned her eyes once more toward where her son lay squirming beneath the princess' hands. "I am so very tired right now."

"I do not doubt it, for you have labored more than half the day," Dwalin replied before pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"That long? Goodness, I hardly noticed the time," she replied. "But I know now that birthing takes a great deal out of you. Good thing I'm not required to do anything but nurse and eat and sleep the next several days, as I've no energy at all."

"Not even to hold your son, m'lady?" Rejna queried as she turned around with a blue-swaddled bundle in her arms.

"Oh, I've definitely energy enough for that!" the tired mother said enthusiastically, lifting her arms as the dam came around the bed.

Tears slipped from her eyes as she took in the tiny face of her son when he was secure in her arms. "Oh, Yavanna be praised! He's beautiful!"

"He looks to be a stout little lad," Dwalin remarked.

"I'd say so, Lord Commander," Rejna observed. "Your son's body is that of a dwarf, for the most part, and he weighs, I would say… oh, about eight and a half pounds."

"For the most part?" Dwalin repeated.

The princess nodded. "Take a look at his ears."

Larkspur shifted her arms slightly that they might see their boy's ears, and indeed, beneath the smattering of dark, slightly wavy hair were lobes just like hers.

"Oh, how wonderful! He's got my ears," she observed.

Both Rejna and Irma chuckled. "And he's like to have your feet, I'd not doubt, Madam," said the healer.

At this, Dwalin reached over and tugged softly on the new blanket, opening it so that they could see all of their son. The baby kicked and waved his arms—his body, face, and limbs definitely very dwarf-like—protesting being uncovered with a whimper as his father gently took one tiny foot in hand. He looked at his wife to find her smiling just as wide as he, for the foot was longer than a newborn dwarf's, and there on top was a very thin tuft of downy hair.

"Oh, Dwalin, he's perfect! The perfect blend of both of us!" Larkspur declared.

"Aye, _Kardûna_ , that he is," her husband replied as he worked to cover the increasingly fussy baby up again.

"Your afterbirth has passed now, Madam Larkspur, and I've got you cleaned up a bit," said Irma then. "Shall I let the others in?"

Larkspur shared a look with Dwalin, and saw in his eyes the same thing she was feeling. So she turned to the healer and said, "Can you give us a moment alone—just the three of us?"

Irma nodded. "Of course," she said, then gathered a basket in her arms before leading the other two ladies out.

She looked down when they were alone and noticed that the baby seemed to be rooting. Larkspur immediately pulled at the string tying closed the front of her nightdress and moved it aside, exposing her breast and guiding her son to the nipple. She worried for a moment that he would have trouble latching on, as she knew happened sometimes, but thankfully it did not seem to be the case with her boy—he was either very eager or very hungry, and had no trouble at all!

With a sigh of contentment, she settled against Dwalin while the baby began to feed. "Did we ever decide on a name?"

Dwalin chuckled softly. "Nay. If memory serves, we could not agree on whether to name him after my father or yours if indeed the bairn were male."

"What about…?" Larkspur paused as an idea came to her. "What about neither?"

"Oh? Have you another name in mind—one of your seven brothers, perhaps?"

"No, you big oaf—though no doubt they'd think mighty highly of themselves, whichever one I chose," she replied. "I was more thinking along the lines of what Fíli and Melindë did—combining two names."

She felt him nod. "Aye, that's a fine idea. But which two names would you combine?" he asked.

"Yours and mine," Larkspur said immediately. "Like I said, he appears to be a perfect blend of both of us. And he's our firstborn, Dwalin—his name should be special."

"Firstborn, eh? So you're not averse to having another?"

The hobbit chuckled. "Not anytime soon, that much is for certain. I'd like to win those ten silvers from that rascal Nori," she replied. "But having grown up in a large family, even though I was the only girl, I do know the benefits of having siblings. And no one on your side of the family—that I've met, anyway—has been an only child."

"Aye, that's true," Dwalin agreed. "In fact, I can't rightly say I know of any of my kin without at least one brother or sister."

He gave her shoulders a light squeeze. "Naturally I do not expect it to happen anytime soon, but I am pleased the birthing has not frightened you out of having another. A boy should have a brother or sister to grow up with, as we did."

"So, as for his name…" Here she paused again, looking down at her son as he fed as she went over the possible combinations. "What do you think of Dwalar?"

"Dwalar… Sounds like a good, Dwarvish name to me," Dwalin replied. He then reached over and caressed the baby's cheek. "Dwalar, son of Dwalin, son of Fundin, I greet you in the name of our Maker."

Larkspur listened as Dwalin then began to murmur what he'd informed her once before were the traditional blessings a father gave to his son at birth—there was a slightly altered version if the child was female. She also knew that Dwalar was the baby's "outer" name, the one given for the world to know, and that Mahal would give to Dwalin in a dream another, secret name that would be known only by his parents, Dwalar himself, and—one day in the very far future—his own wife.

When Dwalin's voice fell silent, Larkspur lifted her free hand and traced the tip of Dwalar's left ear, saying softly as she did so, "Welcome to the world, Dwalar Took."

"Dwalar Took? _Kardûna_ , dwarves do not have family names," Dwalin pointed out.

She looked up at him with a slight frown. "Well, he's not just a dwarf, is he? He's also a hobbit, and hobbits have family names. Therefore, our son—and any other children we might have in the future— _will_ have a family name they can claim."

Her husband chuckled and held up his hand in surrender. "You're right, of course. Forgive me, my dear. 'Tis a good name, too, with the likes of you and Bilbo for his kin."

"Darn right it's a good name," Larkspur retorted as she looked back down at her son. She loved him so completely already, was amazed he was truly, _finally_ here in her arms.

Just then there was a knock at the door, then it opened and Thorin poked his head in. "Might we come in now and meet the little one? Everyone's wondering if you've a lad or a lass, and the ladies won't tell—not even my wife has confessed."

Larkspur chuckled. "Come on in, but do try not to be loud. I don't want you lot to startle the baby."

Thorin nodded and opened the door wider as he stepped inside. Rejna followed, and in a line behind her came Balin, Kíli, Fíli, and Melindë.

Balin was fairly bouncing with excitement, his cheeks rosy and his eyes twinkling as he moved to stand beside his brother. Larkspur smiled up at him as he asked, "So, _naddith_ , am I uncle to a lad or a lass?"

"Brother, I present to you Dwalar," said Dwalin, gesturing toward the suckling infant, " _son_ of Dwalin."

Despite her warning of just moments ago, the males all whooped loudly before offering their congratulations. Larkspur scowled at them when Dwalar scrunched up his face and began to fuss at the noise. Thorin took notice and hushed his nephews as she attempted to settle the baby.

"Dwalar sounds like a fine name, Dwalin," said Fíli. "However did you come up with that?"

"Larkspur and I took a cue from you and Mel," he replied. "We combined parts of two names—in this case the first of mine and hers."

"And a splendid name you created," said Balin. "Whom do you think the lad favors?"

"Can't really say who he'll favor more at the moment," Larkspur said. "He's got the body, arms, and legs of a dwarf, but the ears and feet of a hobbit."

"So he'll have excellent hearing and walk around barefoot, like his _amad_ ," suggested Thorin with a grin.

"And when he's older, he'll fight like a mad grizzly, same as his _adad_ ," added Fíli.

"Just what is he, exactly?" asked Kíli, which earned the young dwarrow some odd looks from his brother and uncle. "I'm not being funny, I'm being serious—what do we call him? I mean, the lad is technically the first of his kind, being part dwarrow and part hobbit. What does that make him—a dwarbbit? A dwarobbit?"

Larkspur chuckled. "It does not matter Kíli, as the only name that does is Dwalar."

The family agreed with her, though Kíli still—when it was his turn to hold the baby—referred to Dwalar as "my little dwarbbit cousin".

Given the circumstances of his son's birth, like Rejna had done for Árni, Dwalin was given two months' leave to tend to his wife as she recovered. Gunnar, now no longer required to safeguard Melindë, filled in for him as Thorin's second guardian. Dwalin was, as told to the others by Balin, most grateful for the assistance of his brother in keeping the house tidy, and for that of both Melindë and Sindri in the cooking of meals—because he was total rubbish at either. The two ladies also benefitted from helping out—Sindri because she was able to introduce her own infant to another, and Melindë received even more valuable practice in caring for a young child.

Though she still insisted her own would be female, and was thus certain she would not be subject to any wetting mishaps like those she had heard of from Sindri.

 **-...-**

Not for the first time, Thorin was glad Rejna had suggested turning the study in their chambers into a kitchen—he truly had enjoyed the meals she'd prepared for him during their wedding week, and once the renovation had been finished just after the first of the year, she had made it a standing appointment to cook lunch for the two of them twice a week in addition to the occasional evening meal (most evenings they shared dinner with her father).

The two of them were just sitting down to lunch when the alarm bell rang. Thorin immediately sprang up and started for the balcony, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rejna had stood also, but he warned her to stay back as the chamber doors burst open and two guards came running in.

"Thorin, I am a general—" she started to argue, but he silenced her with a hard stare.

"Rejna, do not challenge me," he growled. "I will not allow you to put our child in harm's way. Stay where you are."

He looked then to the guards. "Protect your Princess," he ordered them, then hurried over to the balcony doors and yanked them open. Though their terrace was not near as large as the grand balcony outside the king's chambers, it still afforded a fair view of the courtyard and the lands of the capital that led toward Westrock. Thorin was stunned when he caught sight of a very large, dark brown-feathered head rising just over the top of the castle walls.

He could think of only one reason for the arrival of one of the Great Eagles: Gandalf had returned.

"Do not fire!" he yelled to the guards who had bows drawn. He then whirled about and hurried through the parlor and into the hall, where he was joined by more guards as he jogged at a fast clip through the palace.

On at last reaching the outside, he noted that the guards along the walls were already returning to their normal positions, and through the gate he noted the presence of Kíli and Fíli—likely having come from Dwalin's, where they often took lunch—standing beside not Gandalf, but Glorfindel.

"Look who's come back to see us, Uncle!" said Kíli as he approached.

Glorfindel raised his arm and bowed his head in greeting, and Thorin returned the gesture. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness, for alarming the guards with the method of my arrival, and I sincerely wish this were merely a social call."

The elf's use of the formal address meant he'd at least spoken with Gandalf in the last few months, as he had—on Balin's advice—sent a letter addressed to the wizard to Rivendell regarding his marriage. At his words, Thorin frowned. "You bring dark tidings from the north? Has there been a battle or something at Erebor or the Blue Mountains?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, my Lord. No news of battle has reached the Hidden Valley. But it is vitally important that I speak with you and all your kinsmen—in private."

Sensing the message had something to do with his true identity, Thorin nodded. He turned to Kíli then and said, "Go to Dwalin's house and fetch him and Balin. Bring them back to mine and Rejna's chambers as quick as you can."

Kíli nodded. "Yes, Uncle," he replied and turned away toward the side of the mountain, taking off at a run.

Thorin looked up again at the elf. "Let us go inside, Lord Glorfindel. I daresay they will not be long in coming."

Glorfindel nodded, then turned to the eagle and spoke in Sindarin. The enormous avian bowed its head in response and settled, and then the party started for the castle.

"What did you say to him?" asked Fíli. "It is a 'him', I assume."

Their visitor smiled slightly. "You are correct, Meneldor is male. I merely told him that I imagine we will be departing within the hour."

"That soon?"

Glorfindel's expression returned to grim. "Aye, Master Fíli, I am afraid so. Soon you will know the reason why."

Thorin was unnerved by the ominous nature of the elf's words. Whatever the news was that he had come to deliver, it clearly wasn't going to be a pleasant missive. When they arrived at his chambers, he found that Gunnar, Árni, and Dag had arrived in his absence, and as the latter two knew who he was he did not dismiss them. Gunnar and the guards who'd been in the hall when the alarm had first sounded he sent back to their positions as Rejna greeted the new arrival.

"And may I offer my most sincere congratulations on the impending birth of your child," Glorfindel was saying.

Thorin's raised eyebrow mirrored the expression his wife now wore—that letter to Gandalf had been written and carried off by a raven _before_ the wedding, and though she was near to reaching the four-month mark, she had only begun showing her condition in the last week. And only Thorin and Irma had seen the softly rounded bump, as her clothing still concealed it quite well.

"However did you know?" Rejna asked.

Glorfindel smiled. "Upon my rebirth, Your Highness, Lord Manwë gifted me with many abilities similar to those of the Maiar. Among those gifts was the innate ability to sense the presence of life; I became aware of your child as soon as I entered the room. Would you care to know the gender, or would you rather wait and be surprised at the birth?"

Rejna stepped toward him, an eager expression on her face. "Can you really tell if it's a boy or girl? I'm not yet four months, after all."

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side as he studied her. "Elven females know within hours of conception that life has begun, and it is only about a moon later that the Song of Life tells the mother whether the child is male or female," he said. "I could have told you at one month, for I can hear the song of your child's spirit. Not quite as strongly as I would an elf child, but I assume that is because our physiologies differ."

Rejna's gaze turned to meet Thorin's and he walked over to stand beside her. "Do you want to know now, or be surprised?" he asked her softly.

"I want to know, Thorin, but I will not hear it if you do not share that desire," she replied.

How on Arda could he say no to her, especially when she looked at him like that? With a smile he took her hand in his, then looked up at Glorfindel.

"My wife and I would know if we will welcome a son or a daughter," he said.

Glorfindel offered a smile. "You will have a son, Thorin Oakenshield."

Rejna squealed with delight and threw her arms around him; Fíli, Dag, and Árni each gave a cheer. Thorin was stunned for a moment, before his arms lifted to embrace his ecstatic bride. _A son_ , he thought. _A son of my own flesh_.

 _Your son will make a mighty king_ , Ragin had said when they told him Rejna was with child. His father-by-marriage may only have been speaking wishfully, but he had been right.

The elf before him sighed. "If that were the only news I had to impart, my Lord, I could leave here in better spirits," he said slowly, sobering the excited dwarves around him. "Alas, it is not."

Thorin nodded as he and Rejna separated. "Of course," he said, just as there was a knock on the door, followed by Kíli entering with Dwalin and Balin.

"What is your news, Master Elf?"

Glorfindel glanced briefly at the others, his gaze lingering for a moment on Fíli and Kíli, before he looked back to him. "'Tis better if I just show you."

He stepped forward and lifted his hands, placing them on either side of Thorin's face. Thorin tried not to flinch at the touch of the elf's fingertips to his skin, and had barely the time to wonder precisely _how_ Glorfindel could possibly show him anything when suddenly he was not standing in his own parlor.

What he saw—what he felt, even—seemed to be coming from Glorfindel himself.

 _Indeed, Your Highness_ , came the elf's voice in his mind. _It is my memory_.

 _They—he—was riding fast into one of the gates of Rivendell. Elrond's twin sons rode on either side of him, and he sensed the presence of several others. They soon stopped and Glorfindel was off his horse, striding quickly through the throng of what looked to be a company of Rangers to the back end of a covered wagon. One of the Rangers was assisting people out of the wagon; first there were two men, both thin and weary-looking, their clothing torn and ragged. Next came a dwarrowdam holding an infant no older than six months._

 _Then, as Elrond himself was hurrying over, a litter was pushed toward the end of the wagon. Glorfindel reached for the handles as the Ranger inside the wagon and Elrond worked to get it out._

 _Elrond drew a sharp breath and put a hand on Glorfindel's arm to stop him as soon as he saw the bruised and bloodied face of the figure on the litter._

 _"It cannot be,"_ the elf-lord said at the same time Thorin himself felt the throat-punch of recognition.

He stumbled away from the physical Glorfindel, his chest heaving as he fought to settle his suddenly racing heart.

"Thorin?" queried Rejna, worry in her tone.

"Uncle, what did he show you?" asked Fíli.

Thorin looked up, past the elf and into the worried expressions of his nephews. How could he tell them? he wondered. How was it even possible?

"Uncle, talk to us," spoke up Kíli.

He felt a hand on his arm. "Thorin, you're frightening me. What did he show you?" Rejna pressed.

Thorin looked to her, then back to his sister-sons. He needed to tell them, but he could not find the words.

He did not have to. Because he seemed momentarily incapable of speech, Glorfindel drew a breath and then turned to the young dwarrow to say, "I showed him your mother."


	72. Chapter 72

**Such an incredible response to chapter 71, thank you all so much! Special shout-out, as always, to those of you who left me a few words: Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Sparky She-Demon, Celebrisilweth, readpink, marzieb, LoveMeSomeFili, Adoniss, thewolf74, S02blom, Guest, dojoson41, and readergirl4985.**

 **Guest - Don't worry, I most certainly will!**

 **dojoson41 - You do not hope in vain.**

* * *

 **72\. In Plain Sight**

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"I showed him your mother."

 _Impossible_ was Kíli's first thought on hearing those words.

Beside him, Fíli stepped forward. "Show me," his brother demanded.

Glorfindel complied wordlessly, raising his hands to Fíli's face the way he had to Thorin. As he did so, Balin and Dwalin came away from the door where they had been standing, the former saying, "Thorin, is this true?"

Thorin nodded slowly. "It… It is what I saw," he said, his voice cracking with the effort.

"That's not possible," Kíli said, just as Fíli gasped loudly and stumbled backward into a chair. He looked and saw that his brother had gone as wide-eyed and pale as their uncle.

"It's not possible," he insisted. "She's dead!"

"Sh-show him, Del," Fíli croaked. "Oh, Mahal, how did this happen?"

Kíli stepped up to Glorfindel, and again the elf lifted his hands. The images and emotions he experienced were charged with alarm and tension, and when he saw the figure on the litter, even he could see what was there under the bruises and dried blood.

His reaction was instinctual and violent. Kíli pushed back from Glorfindel and drew his sword. _"You lie!"_ he screamed as he pointed it at the elf.

"I cannot force you to accept what you have seen," Glorfindel said calmly. "I can only give to you my word of honor that the memory you experienced was not fabricated."

"Thorin—" Dwalin began, but was interrupted when Kíli's rage boiled up and he screamed again, turning to swing his sword at the first thing within sight. It happened to be another chair, and he lifted his heavy blade in an arc, over and over again, hacking away at the wood until there was little more left than splinters and torn fabric. Balin dealt quickly with the guards that came charging in at the noise, assuring them that it was an internal family matter and it was being handled, before he ushered them out again.

"Thorin, how is this possible?" Dwalin chanced to say as Kíli stood still at last, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

"How the _razâd_ would I know?!" Thorin bellowed. "You and I were both there that night! I held her hand as she took her last…her last…"

"Is…is she still alive?" stuttered Fíli.

Glorfindel nodded. "When I left Imladris two days ago, she was being tended by Lord Elrond himself."

Fíli stood on legs that shook. "I want to go see her," he said.

"Fíli, you cannot leave Dwarrowvale!" protested Rejna.

"As much as I hate to say it, she's right lad," put in Balin. "Your mate is pregnant, and though there is still time before the babe comes, now is when she needs you most."

"Well I'm going!" Kíli declared, turning back to face them with a fierce expression. "And if anyone of you tries to keep me here, I swear I will cut you down to get you out of my way!"

"Kíli, don't be ridiculous," Thorin said. "Firstly, we all know you would not harm your kin."

"Perhaps, my love, but there's no child alive that wouldn't tear the world apart for his or her mother," Rejna pointed out kindly.

Thorin looked to her for a moment, then back toward Kíli. "Secondly, there is none here who would stop you at this point. You will go with us."

He looked to Glorfindel. "Can the eagle carry three? I would not overburden him, for his kind has done us a service in the past."

Glorfindel nodded. "One of us may have to be carried in his claws to balance the weight, but Meneldor can handle it."

"Thorin, wait," said the princess as she took his arm. "You mean to go with them?"

He turned to her and took her hands in his. " _Amrâlimê_ , I know you wish me to remain, and perhaps I should for the same reason Fíli must—Kíli can surely confirm the identity of the dam we saw on his own. But this could be my sister, to whom I owe a debt I can never repay."

"My Lord Glorfindel," spoke up Balin again, "just how is it you came into contact with…whoever you showed to them?"

The elf turned to him. "The Rangers had been investigating rumors of slave trading. A merchant caravan we encountered told us they had witnessed a slave market in Dunland that included, much to their surprise and ours, the sale of dwarves. When we raided the village where this allegedly occurred, we rescued five of your kin—two males and three females, one of which is but an infant—along with several sons and daughters of men. One of the dams had been injured in an escape attempt, as were both male dwarves and a few of the men. Lord Elrond identified Princess Dís, recognizing as soon as he saw her to be kin of Thorin's."

"But how would he know her to be our kin if he had never met her before?" Fíli pressed.

"Remember, Fíli, that he knew me when first we encountered him," Thorin pointed out. "Elrond said I had Thrór's bearing, and much to her regret, your mother and I have the same nose. In Glorfindel's memory, he knew her straight away and appeared just as flummoxed as are we, so Gandalf must have told him at some point she had passed."

"We watched her die, Thorin," said Kíli. "We sat on that bed with her in Erebor and we held hands once so strong that were withered to nothing but bone, and we watched her die. How can she be alive? Was she returned as we were? Why would Mahal not tell us she had been sent back?"

He watched his uncle's face darken. "There appears to be much the Maker has not told us," he said. "Kíli, go and pack a bag—I imagine we will be several days. Meet Glorfindel and I outside by the eagle."

Kíli nodded and hurried out. Thorin turned to Rejna to see her walking toward the bedroom, but was unable to immediately follow by the entrance of the king.

"I see the rumors are true, an elf is here in my kingdom," he said.

Glorfindel raised his arm across his chest and bowed. "It is my honor to make your acquaintance at last, Your Majesty. I am Glorfindel."

Ragin's eyes widened. "My daughter spoke to me of meeting the slayer of Durin's Bane, but never did I think to look upon him myself. The honor is mine, sir."

The king then returned the bow, and when he stood straight his gaze flew to Thorin. "Now, I would have someone tell me why there is an eagle taller than my castle walls waiting outside of them."

"Thorin, see to your mate, my friend," said Glorfindel. "I will explain the matter to the king."

Thorin nodded and turned away. When he reached the bedroom he closed the door behind him; Rejna was already packing some of his clothes into a bag.

He drew a breath. "I know you do not want me to go," he began.

Rejna nodded, though she did not look at him. "No, I do not. I feel the situation in Dwarrowvale much too perilous for us to lose our prince."

Thorin stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist so that her movement would still. " _Amrâlimê_ , you're not going to lose me. I'm going to bloody Rivendell, which is populated by peace-loving elves. Nothing will happen to me there except being forced to eat vegetables."

She turned in his arms, her worried expression cutting him to the quick. "I do not worry for your safety, my love. I worry what will happen here whilst you are gone. Our need for strong leadership has not been greater since the time of Tors. _Adad_ and I need you here."

He forced down a sigh and said, "I very much respect your concern, you know I do. But this is my sister. She is my family—"

"So am I!" Rejna cried, then placed a hand over her belly. "So is he!"

"And I will come back to both of you!" he whispered fiercely. Lifting his hands to her face, he leaned in to kiss her tenderly. "Were it any other dwarf of my acquaintance, I would send Kíli alone without hesitation. But it is my baby sister, for whom I have been responsible all her life. With whom I raised two sons to adulthood in the absence of their father. Whose children I took from her in my selfish, narrow-minded desire to reclaim what was ours, and whose deaths lead to her own suffering. You did not see what she had become in her grief, Rejna—if you had, you would understand why I must go."

She tilted her head back to blink away the tears that had pooled in her eyes. "Oh Thorin, I do understand," she said. "If it were my mother I would not hesitate either, though I never truly knew her. But Dwarrowvale needs you and I need you, and there's no telling how long we shall be apart."

He wrapped his arms around her again and drew her against him, cradling her head against his shoulder with one hand. "It will not be for long, that I can assure you. If the eagle could carry Glorfindel here in but two days, then it will take only that long to carry us all to Rivendell. A few days we will spend assessing the condition of my sister, and then with luck we shall be able to convince this eagle or another to carry us home again."

Rejna sighed. "Our son and I will miss you while you are gone."

Thorin smiled at the words 'our son'. "That we are to have a son is the greatest of joys to me, besides receiving your love."

"I feel exactly the same," his wife replied, then stood back to show that a small smile now sat upon her lips. "All that throne-securing nonsense aside, _Amrâlumê_ , I am pleased beyond words to be giving you a son of your own."

At that, Thorin leaned in to kiss her again, this time more deeply. Rejna responded with enthusiasm, and a soft groan was issued by both when they parted. Nothing further was said as he reached behind her and picked up the traveling pack, secured the top and slung it over his shoulder. They then walked out of the bedroom hand in hand.

"I wish you did not have to go, my son," said King Ragin. "But I understand why you must."

Thorin bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Lad, there's more," said Balin.

Thorin frowned. "More?" he queried, his gaze passing from Balin to Glorfindel.

The elf sighed. "With the reveal about your sister, my Lord, I had not the chance to tell you, but I recalled as I was informing the king as to what has transpired."

His frown deepened. "Recalled what?"

"Princess Dís was not the only person Lord Elrond recognized amongst those we rescued," Glorfindel replied. "One of the male dwarves we freed along with your sister was another of your kin. Elrond identified him as Nori."

Shock coursed through Thorin. "Nori? How was he captured— _when_ was he captured?"

"I cannot answer those questions, I am afraid. Nori and the other male, as well as Dís, were all still unconscious when I left Imladris."

"How is certainly open for debate," said Fíli, "but when is fairly easy to pin down. It would have to have been sometime in November, at the earliest."

Dwalin nodded. "The lad is right," he said. "Nori left us in the first week to head north."

"Forgive me, but we should be going," spoke up Glorfindel. "Meneldor has already made a lengthy flight today—if we hope to get anywhere near the half point of our journey before dark, we can delay no longer."

Thorin nodded, and the party made its way out of the palace. Curious stares were turned toward them but were ignored. In a short time they reached Kíli and Meneldor outside the palace gate.

"How are we going to do this?" Kíli asked.

A strange chortling sound issued from the eagle before he surprised all but Glorfindel by speaking. "One must be carried in my claws, Master Dwarf."

"I didn't know your kind were capable of speech," said Thorin, who noted that the voice of the eagle was a deeper baritone than his own.

"Aye, there were none that spoke when they carried us across the Misty Mountains," added Dwalin.

Meneldor ruffled his feathers and chortled again, and Thorin had the sudden feeling that he was laughing at them. "No words needed to be said then," was his reply.

He then lowered himself enough so that those who would ride on his back could climb on. Due to their size, it was determined that Thorin and Kíli would take the eagle's back and that Glorfindel would ride in one of Meneldor's clawed feet. When each was settled, the eagle spread his wings.

"I suggest you stand back," he said, and the gathered dwarves complied. They understood why he had made the suggestion moments later; as he beat his enormous wings to gain lift, the air swirled like gusts during a storm, and only when the Great Eagle was high enough did they no longer feel the current his wings created.

 **-...-**

It was very nearly too dark to see when Meneldor announced he was going to land soon. Those were the first words that had been spoken by any of them in hours—Thorin and Kíli had briefly discussed the incredulity they'd felt on seeing Dís and hearing that Nori had been captured sometime after his departure from Dwarrowvale (which Thorin had informed him of after they'd taken off), but had quickly lapsed into silence, each distracted by their own thoughts.

Keeping high in the mountains near Dunland, the eagle circled over what looked to be a small glade, before gliding down on the air currents far enough that Glorfindel could easily drop to the ground. Meneldor then landed and lowered himself so that Thorin and Kíli could climb off, then he moved off to the side of the clearing and settled himself, clearly ready for a good night's rest.

"Do you think we can risk a fire? It's bloody cold," Kíli said, his eyes roaming over the snow-covered ground.

Thorin snorted. "That cave we stayed in during the blizzard on our trip west was colder—you've been pampered by the temperate climate in Dwarrowvale."

Kíli shot him a sour look, which led Glorfindel to laugh. "I am certain a fire can be arranged, Master Kíli. Orcs do not usually roam this high in winter—we're near the peak of the mountain."

"I thought as much," Thorin mused. "The very air we breathe is thinner here."

Soon they had a decent fire going, and Glorfindel surprised them by producing a small pot, in which they melted snow for tea. Dinner consisted of dried meat, bread, and apples.

"I can't… I can't stop thinking about Mother," Kíli said after a time. "Can't stop wondering how in the world this happened. We've thought her dead for well over a year—for pity's sake, it's taken me just about this long to stop feeling like my heart got ripped from my chest."

He kicked at the dirt as he sighed. "But I suppose that's nothing compared to how she suffered thinking she'd lost us. Or what she has been through since…whatever happened to her."

The younger dwarrow lifted his gaze to Thorin. "What if we're too late—again? I don't think I can take it, Uncle. I can't lose _Amad_ a second time."

"You're not going to lose her again, _Irakdashat_ ," Thorin replied firmly, flicking his gaze across the fire at Glorfindel.

The elf nodded his agreement. "As I am sure you are aware, Lord Elrond is a gifted healer. Both your mother and your kinsman will recover, though it will take some time. If anything had changed, he would tell me so."

"How could he do that?" Kíli asked.

Glorfindel grinned. "Some of my kind—very few, mind you—have the ability to speak to one another mind to mind."

"Elrond is a telepath as well as a healer," Thorin observed. "I have heard of this, as well as his ability to foretell the future. Funny how that little talent didn't predict any of what happened to my family."

"Even the most gifted cannot see all ends, Your Highness," Glorfindel said kindly. "As he has often said, even what he does see is not necessarily what will transpire."

The ancient elf then downed the last of his tea and stood. "You two ought try and get some rest. We're leaving at dawn."

The two dwarves nodded their agreement, knowing that elves required much less sleep than they and that Glorfindel could be trusted to wake them if trouble should arise. Thorin and Kíli each tried to settle down with their packs beneath their heads, but neither got much sleep. Thorin felt as though he'd just drifted off when Glorfindel woke them just before dawn.

The fire was embers that were quickly snuffed out, and returning to the previous day's arrangement, the three took their places on Meneldor and were in the sky as the sun crested the Eastern horizon. Thorin could not admire the beauty of the sight, however, for his mind was already occupied with what lay ahead.

He wished the eagle could fly faster—with only Glorfindel to carry, the magnificent bird had traveled from Rivendell to Dwarrowvale in only two days. It was like to take a few hours longer with the added burden of himself and his nephew. But he could not regret making this journey—he needed personal reassurance that Dís would be okay. He had taken so much from her and believed himself responsible for her death.

To find out she was alive after all? It was at least part of the burden of his guilt lifted, for which he was immensely relieved. He still felt some of what he had done, though—she had suffered for years believing her sons were dead because he had taken them on the quest. He would never forgive himself for that, even if Dís somehow managed to find it in her heart to do so.

What concerned him most now, besides the health of his sister (and Nori) was how the _razâd_ this could have happened. He and his nephews, and Dwalin and Dáin, had watched Dís die. Three days later, they had watched as the stone lid was placed atop of her sarcophagus.

Dead and buried. Yet somehow alive.

They did indeed have to spend another night in the mountains, but Glorfindel assured the two dwarves that they were quite close to Rivendell, and that he believed they would reach the refuge by early evening the following day. This seemed sufficient to relax them enough to sleep more than a few hours, though Thorin and Kíli both rose before the elf had chance to wake them before dawn the next morning.

They were each too anxious for food, so the camp was quickly abandoned and they were in the sky before sun-up. No words were spoken as they flew the last several miles toward where the impossible waited.


	73. Chapter 73

**I see that I did good with the surprise of last couple chapters—Princess Dís of Erebor is alive after all, and Nori was kidnapped too! Wtaf, right?! Ha ha, don't you worry though, explanations are coming...along with maybe another surprise or two.**

 **Thanks, as always, to all of you following along, and a special shout-out to Sparky She-Demon, Robinbird79, readpink, Adoniss, FantomPhan33, yshxf, marzieb, ValarenOfGondor, Rohirrim Girl 2187, and readergirl4985 for leaving me a review!**

* * *

 **37\. The Impossible Dam**

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Thorin waited until they were on the ground, until after he and Kíli both had said a heartfelt thanks to Meneldor for his aid and the eagle had departed, before he turned on Glorfindel with a deep scowl.

"Why are we here? Why did we not land in the valley?" he asked, gesturing to the clearing around them.

Glorfindel regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Two reasons, Your Highness: One, there are few places within Imladris at which a creature Meneldor's size could land comfortably. In fact, I had to come here to meet him to be taken south. And two, from here we can enter the valley unseen, as I assume that you still wish your resurrection to remain a secret. Going in the back way, as the Rangers often call it, will allow us to avoid being seen by those in residence who know who you are."

A glance at his nephew showed Thorin that Kíli appeared as frustrated by the notion as he had been a year and a half ago when first he had announced he intended to keep their return a secret. Frankly, Thorin was beginning to feel the same.

Turning back to Glorfindel, he said, "Hang the bloody secrecy! Do you really think that I care at this point who knows I am alive? Some dark conspiracy has led to my sister—his mother—being presumed dead only to turn up alive more than a year later as a victim of slave trafficking. All I care about is seeing to Dís' health and finding out what sodding bastard is behind what happened to her."

"So that they can pay with their life for this treachery," Kíli added.

The elf drew a breath and nodded slowly. "Very well, then. We shall take the most direct route from here," he told them, then turned on his heel and began to lead them down the hill.

They passed through a thicket of barren trees before crossing an almost tangible barrier, beyond which the flora was green and blooming. The temperature was noticeably higher, very Spring-like in this area, as it had been the last time he'd ventured into this valley. This time, however, he did not look around with suspicion in his eyes but genuine interest in his surroundings. The architecture wasn't his style, but the waterfalls were nice to look at.

The trio passed several elves on their way into the compound, some of whom stared openly—though whether because Glorfindel was with a pair of dwarves or because they knew who he was he did not know. He honestly did not care, because he had long ago tired of hiding himself; pity that it took his sister's tragic circumstances to make him see that it was time to give up the charade.

The first person to speak to them as they neared the building Glorfindel identified as the House of Healing was, interestingly enough, not an elf. Young Estel, whom Thorin had not set eyes on since the boy—now nearly a man himself—was but ten years old. Now he was… sixteen?

Coming out of a doorway they passed, the boy stopped at first and stared as the others had, then hurried to fall into step beside Kíli. "It…it can't be!" he exclaimed, incredulity evident in his voice. "But… We heard you died!"

"Estel, there will be time for explanations later, lad," Glorfindel said.

"Indeed, my young friend," added Kíli with a light smile. "I know you've many questions now, and we shall be more than happy to answer them, but our coming here is for a greater purpose."

Estel blinked, then nodded as understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh yes! I have heard from my father that Nori and the Princess Dís are here in the House of Healing. I understand that she is your mother?"

Kíli nodded. "Aye, that she is. And I long very much to see her."

"Then I shall leave you to it. Perhaps we might take supper together in a short while? I've so missed your company. And of course I want to hear everything about where you've been."

It was Thorin who replied, saying, "When we take our dinner will depend largely upon the condition of my sister, young master. But worry not, for your curiosity will soon enough be satisfied."

Estel nodded, then said as he turned away down a connecting path, "It was very good to see you again, my friends."

Thorin replied with a nod and Kíli said to him, "It was a great pleasure to see you again, as well."

The three of them continued on after Estel had gone, and soon were climbing the steps of the House of Healing. Glorfindel led them around the veranda that surrounded the building and to a room where the door stood open.

A dam with dark hair sat with her back to them in a chair next to the bed, the infant from Glorfindel's memory—or so Thorin assumed—in her arms sleeping with its head on her shoulder. Dís lay unmoving in the bed, and for a long moment all he could bring himself to do was watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

 _Dís is alive_ , he thought. _She is truly alive_.

" _Amad_!" Kíli gasped, and pushed past Thorin to hurry around to the other side of the bed.

The dam on Dís' left side gasped and clutched the baby to her as she stood. "Mother?" she said. "She... she can't be—the princess' sons died! They died in battle alongside their uncle more than five years ago."

Kíli, who had sat on the edge of the bed, glanced up at her with a scowl, his expression softening as he turned his gaze back to his mother and carefully took up her hand in his own. "Rumors of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated."

The dam sputtered and whirled, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of Thorin standing in the doorway. She was so startled that she backed up and bumped into the bed.

"Mahal's wrath!" she cried fearfully. "Mahal's vengeance is upon me!"

Thorin took a step forward. "Madam, what do you mean? Who are you? How do you know my sister?"

The dam, who was not much older than Rejna based on her appearance, cried out again and ran out of the room; Thorin noted tears flowing down her cheeks as she brushed past him.

He looked up at Glorfindel. "Who was that?" he asked.

The elf stared after the lass for a moment before he replied. "I do not know her name, I am afraid. I did not remain long after we brought the freed slaves to Rivendell."

"So you don't know how my mother is doing?" Kíli asked.

"No, Master Kíli. I will go and locate Elrond," Glorfindel replied, and at Thorin's nod he stepped away and went off in search of Imladris' lord.

After he had gone, Thorin stepped fully into the room and over to the chair the dam had occupied. He lowered himself into it slowly, his eyes studying Dís' face. Though bruised on both cheeks and along her jaw, it was fuller than when he had seen her in Erebor. Healthier, all things considered.

"She looks good," Kíli said then. "You know, except for the bruises."

He growled then, and Thorin looked over to see an expression of murderous rage cross his nephew's face. "I hope the Rangers killed every one of those fecking monsters," he said. "If I find out any one of them are still alive, I swear I will rip his spine out through his throat."

"According to my sons, such violent action will not be necessary."

They both turned their attention to the doorway, in which Elrond now stood with Glorfindel behind him. The two elves entered and moved to stand at the end of the bed. "The Dunlendings, as I am sure you can imagine, vehemently protested the liberation of their slave laborers. The Rangers regrettably had no choice but to use force against them. Most of the men who fought back are deceased, those that did not—along with the women and children—were relocated to the Angle to be integrated into or jailed in a village of Dúnedain and Edain freemen."

"Tell me, Elrond," Thorin began. "Will my sister recover?"

Elrond nodded. "Princess Dís' injuries were and still are quite serious, the beating she endured was brutal," he replied. "Be assured however, my Lord Thorin, that she will recover. As will Nori, who is in a room of his own a few doors down. Medicine and rest are what they need now."

"What happened to them?" asked Kíli. "How the devil were they sold into slavery?"

The elves glanced to one another. "I do not know your mother's story save that she and Lita—the dwarrow lass who was just here—were taken together," said Elrond. "Nori and Ranec were captured much the same as the sons and daughters of men that were liberated: on the road as they traveled."

"Ranec is the name of the other dwarf male who attempted escape?" Thorin queried.

"He fared better in the retaliation of their masters than did Nori or Dís and has been awake a time or two. He explained that the three of them planned their escape with a few of the men but were caught when they attempted to steal weapons with which to defend themselves in the wild."

Kíli snorted, and Thorin shook his head. "Sounds unfortunately familiar," he said, then sighed when Glorfindel cast a curious look his way. "Much the same thing happened to the Company in Lake-town."

"I'm still sorry, Uncle. I honestly thought I could handle the load," said Kíli.

"You were pretending that the injury from the morgul arrow wasn't causing you great pain, and I was a fool for not seeing that," Thorin countered. "I was foolish about a great many things back then."

He then looked to Elrond. "You said the dam's name was Lita?"

Elrond nodded a second time. "Aye."

A frown marred Thorin's features. "That name is familiar to me, but I cannot place it."

Kíli suddenly sat straight. "It is familiar to me too, and I think I know why—didn't Dáin say that one of _Amad_ 's nurses was named Lita?"

"That's right! The night that your mother... Well, the night we _thought_ she died, Dáin addressed the nurse that was in her room as Korra," said Thorin. "He said that she and Lita had been doing a marvelous job of looking after her. And Balin _did_ say that one of her nurses had disappeared last year."

He turned again to the elves. "What of the child? I do not recall any mention of Lita beyond her name. The babe seemed very young; she would have had to bear her in the last few months, which means one of her captors sired the child."

"Fecking monsters," Kíli muttered. "To take a slave is bad enough—to take advantage of a female slave in that manner? It's despicable."

When the elves looked to one another again in a manner suggesting they knew something further, Thorin frowned. "What is it?"

Elrond sighed. "Thorin," he began, casting a brief glance toward Kíli, "the child does not belong to Lita. Zari is your sister's offspring."

Kíli's head snapped up. "That's impossible. Mother's too old to bear a child."

"Apparently not," quipped Glorfindel. "Are you troubled by having a younger sibling?"

"Certainly not!" Kíli countered. "But if that child is hers then that means she is the one who..."

His face darkened with anger. Thorin understood his rage—he felt it himself. To think that his sister, a Princess of Erebor, had been made to service a slave master so that he could slake his lust was abominable. He wanted to kill the fiend, and hoped like his nephew had earlier that he was already dead, even if it meant the pleasure of taking her captor's life was given to another.

Thorin looked back to Dís. He could not—did not—want to imagine what she had been through since her apparent death. But he needed to know, and if the Lita who had been rescued with her was indeed the nurse who had once cared for her, then she knew something. She was the only one, at present, who could answer their questions as to what the _razâd_ had really happened.

Lifting his sister's hand to his lips, he placed a soft kiss to the back of it before laying it back on the bed and standing to his feet.

"I desire we find where Lita has gone," he said to Elrond and Glorfindel. "She was one of my sister's nurses during her illness the four years we were absent from Middle-earth—and Balin reported last year that she had disappeared. He said that it was the belief of those in Dale and Erebor that slavers had moved through the region as around thirty men and dwarves had gone missing."

He glanced across the bed at Kíli. "He also reported that Dís's body had gone missing from her crypt in the Tomb of Kings, along with several others."

Kíli frowned. "You never told us that, Uncle."

"You and your brother had suffered enough from the loss of your mother," Thorin returned. "I could not bear to wound you further with such news. I think it clear now, it would seem, that the other bodies were taken merely to cover the removal of your mother, should it be discovered she was no longer in the Tomb."

"Come, we will find Lita and get you the answers you seek," said Glorfindel.

Thorin inclined his head and lead the way out of the room. Glorfindel and Elrond both followed, the latter passing him to take the lead. They turned a corner toward the front of the house of Healing and stopped short when Gilraen, who carried a basket of what looked to be linens, gasped and dropped her load, her hands flying to her lips.

"Manwë be praised, it is true!" she said. "Estel told me he had seen you, but I did not believe him."

Thorin stepped up past Elrond. He reached down and picked up the basket and the towels that had fallen from it and held it out to her. "My Lady, it is a pleasure to look upon you again, and as did your son I know you have many questions. In time I will be glad to answer them, but first I must find someone who has answers to _my_ questions. I must know what happened to my sister before I can take the time to satisfy anyone else's curiosity."

"Oh, of course! I've waited nearly six years to see you again, I can spare a few hours if I must," Gilraen told him.

Thorin smiled at her. "Thank you," he said. "Perhaps you can help us—do you know the dwarrow lass Lita?"

"Yes, she's a nurse. She's been helping us care for Nori and Ranec, and of course little Zari."

"Lady Gilraen, have you seen Lita recently?" Elrond asked her.

The Dúnedain nodded. "As a matter of fact, I believe I saw her entering the apothecary a few minutes ago."

"Thank you, Madam," Thorin told her, and he and the two elves continued on. Elrond led them into the building proper, which Thorin realized was a triage center with multiple beds. They were all empty, leading the dwarf to assume that all the injured had been given private rooms. Their course took them down a central hall, before they stopped before a closed door.

Elrond reached for the handle, and when he opened it to a room filled with plants that Thorin assumed were being grown for medicinal use, they witnessed Lita swallowing...something.

"Mistress Lita, what are you doing?" Elrond asked.

"Do not come any closer!" she cried as she backed away from them.

Thorin stepped forward in spite of her warning and she backed away further. "Lita, please... I must ask you some questions—"

"Are you really him? You are truly Thorin Oakenshield?"

"I am," he replied. "I died in the Battle of Five Armies, and was reborn because our Maker pleaded with Sulladad to return my nephews and myself."

Lita drew a breath, then grimaced. "I saw your portrait once—Lord Scrivener Ori had drawn it and hung it in the princess' chambers next to a portrait of her sons. I knew who you were when I saw you, should have known her son, but I had to ask... And I know why you are here, at least in part. Mahal sent you to serve justice upon me."

The dam laughed, the sound dark and humorless. "I always knew this day would come. As soon as we were taken, I knew that my heinous deeds had caught up to me."

She looked to him again. "You wish to know what happened to Princess Dís."

Thorin nodded. "I want to know how my sister is alive when I thought her dead, yes," he replied.

Lita drew a breath, then grimaced again and gasped, clutching her stomach.

"Lita, what did you take?" Elrond asked.

She shook her head. "I will not tell you, my Lord. My punishment is just—death would be my sentence were my crimes brought to trial, for I am guilty of treason." Her eyes flicked to Thorin. "I am glad you have come, for to you I can now confess, in the hope that Mahal might yet have mercy on me. I will meet my Maker this day, but I will now do so with a clear conscience."

Lita clutched at her stomach again and groaned, her other hand reaching out to grasp the table on which a number of plants were sitting. Thorin took another step toward her but she backed away again. "No!" she cried. "I will tell you everything, but you will let me be!"

"Lita, let us help you," Elrond pleaded.

"Your confession will save you," Thorin offered. "By willingly admitting to your crimes, I will see to it your life is spared."

"No, Your Highness," Lita replied with a shake of her head. "I do not seek my death lightly—I deserve no less for what I have done."

"What did you do?"

"My father... He sent me north with the first caravan once we heard that Erebor had been retaken," she said.

Thorin frowned. "Your father? You were sent north? I don't understand—are you from Dwarrowvale?"

"I am," Lita replied, then groaned again, her pinched expression telling them that she was truly in pain. "Born and raised in the Hidden Kingdom, I was. A bastard daughter... of a high lord and one of his... many mistresses. I had no place in Dwarrowvale society, but five years ago... my father promised me one in Erebor. He said I ... He said I could earn my noble blood... if I just did one thing for him."

A high lord and one of his mistresses... Thorin had a sneaking suspicion as to whom she referred, and it did not sit well with him.

"All I had to do... all I had to do was take... take care of the princess," Lita went on. "To keep her dosed with... with just enough poison to... to make her appear mad. She was already consumed... consumed with grief. He said he had orders... orders which would lead him to... to the throne of Dwarrowvale. Once Halvar... once he was king, my father said he... said he could rule... rule through him."

Confirmation. Lita's father was Lord Hagen.

"If I... If I kept Princess Dís down... Made her appear demented... kept her from possibly... possibly conceiving another Heir of Durin... Once Halvar was king, Father would... he would arrange a marriage for me to... to the son of Dáin. I would wed... Thorin Stonehelm, his heir. My brother would be... be King of Dwarrowvale, and I... I would be the future... future Queen of Erebor."

Lita then cried out again and fell to her knees. Thorin rushed forward and knelt to the ground beside her, grabbing her by the shoulders to shake her. "Tell me the rest!" he demanded. "Do not dare die before you confess all of your sins!"

Tears began to fall from her eyes as foam began to roll over her lips. "In late September of... of 2945, I received... I received a letter. Father said that... that something was happening. He could not tell me what. He said he knew... knew only that the plan... the plan had changed. He told me..."

She began to sob, but Thorin could not find it in himself to feel sorry for her. This dam had betrayed one of her own, had poisoned his sister for years, and for what? To make her appear crazy? To keep her from having another child? Why, for pity's sake? What the devil could be gained by it when there was no guarantee that a female of Dís' age could even conceive? With Dáin taking the kingship in his and his nephews' absence, what chance would the child even have of regaining the throne for the senior line?

That had to be it, though, he realized. This whole insidious plot had been to keep any possibility of the senior line of Durin from regaining the throne and commanding the Seven Kingdoms. Thorin recalled then words Mahal had said to him before his reawakening: _Though certain to be an annoyance, the secondary lines of Durin are not so much a threat in Sauron's mind as is the first_...

"You must have wanted to be queen very much," he growled, "to have so cruelly betrayed one of your own. Dís may not have been of your clan, but she was a dwarf like you!"

"I did not so much... desire a crown as I desired... desired acceptance," Lita countered. "My father promised... promised he would... he would acknowledge me. He would openly... openly declare me his daughter. He would legitimize my birth. I just... I just wanted him to... to love me. I wanted... wanted to be a part... a part of a family."

Here, Thorin acknowledged, he could stand to offer her _some_ sympathy. Lita was just a girl who had desperately desired the love and acceptance of her father, and though her decision to do his bidding was obviously a very poor one, she was willing to do whatever it took to earn it.

"What about Dís's death?" Thorin asked. "How did you fake that? For clearly that is what you did. And the body thefts, was that to cover her body going missing?"

Lita nodded. She was sweating now, the foaming at her mouth getting worse. "In the letter he sent... Father said that it was time... time to end it. I was supposed to... to kill her. But I couldn't. I just could... could not do it. I may be a fool, but I... I am no killer. So I switched... switched the poisons. Belladonna for... for tetrodox. The latter, in a certain... certain measured dose... can simulate death. It slows the heart and... and breathing... causes paralysis enough... to fool a healer. She was basically... basically comatose... the entire time she laid... laid in state. You'll not believe me, but I... I feel bad for making Korra... Korra the one to... to give it to her."

She paused, and it was clear she was becoming weaker. Thorin was certain she did not have much time left, but he hoped what there was would be enough to get the whole story.

"Once the funeral... the funeral was over... I took her out... out of the crypt," Lita went on. "Took a few other bodies and hid them... hid them in the mass grave of the dwarves discovered... discovered to have still... still been inside the mountain when... when the dragon came. Anyone who opens the mausoleum... will easily find them. I took nothing from them. Their clothing and... and jewelry... are still with them. They can easily be returned... to their rightful places... of rest."

Lita groaned and began to convulse. Thorin laid her to the ground as Elrond rushed over and directed him to turn her on her side. Vomit spewed from her mouth, splattering on the elf's robes.

"No!" Thorin shouted. "Do not dare die on me, female! How did you get out of the mountain? How were you taken into captivity?!"

"Thorin, enough!" Elrond barked. "Save your questions for later, when she is not on death's door. Lita, what did you take? Tell me so I can give you an antidote—let me save you!"

Lita managed to shake her head. She spit a mouthful of vomit out and reached for Thorin's hand, clasping it tightly as tremors continued to shake her.

"Carried her out... cover of darkness... to Dale. Let a room at... an inn. Hoped to restore her... to health. Once she was better... she could do with me... as she wished. I wanted... no more part... of my father's plans. A couple of weeks... went by. She was beginning... to recover. It was slow, but she was... coherent. I explained myself... Dís said... she would retake her place... and then decide my fate."

She paused again to vomit some more. Thorin knew from the look on Elrond's countenance that Lita had only minutes to live. He knew he should not force her to speak anymore, but he could not let go his need to know everything.

"Six weeks after her... apparent death... Dís was strong enough to walk. Only short...short distances. I kept her... covered with a deep hood, to conceal her. She agreed because... because she wanted to be fully... fully recovered before coming forward. We were in the market... when we were taken. She was still too weak... too weak to fight and I... I did not want to risk her being injured. We were sold in Rhûn to a man who... who actually treated us fairly. We only had to cook and clean his home, sow his crops. And behave. Not try... to escape. The princess was too weak to even... even try for some time. I stayed as penance... to protect her. As she grew stronger, recovered her beauty, our first master... he took a liking to Dís. She would not... would not have to work as hard if she... if she gave herself to him. She did not want to, wanted to remain true to her One... but feared being forced. She did not yet have the strength... to fight him off. And the one thing... I was to prevent... happened."

"She got pregnant," Thorin supplied, and Lita nodded weakly.

"Princess Dís... had been praying to the Maker. She was depressed still... and wanted a reason to go on... to not give up. She believed her child was... Mahal's answer. We then were taken... on a trading mission... to the west. Our master was approached... about selling us. He refused. I honestly think... he might have fallen in love... with Dís. He was looking forward... to being a father. But our camp was ambushed... in the night. Our master was killed. Many of his men also. The others... were taken with us... and made slaves alongside us.

"Our second master, in the village where... where the Rangers found us... From him we received... harsher treatment. Dís was not spared... just because she was... with child. If she failed to complete her tasks, she was punished. Then he purchased Nori and a few other men and women a few weeks later. Nori was as surprised... to see her... as she was to see him. They began to talk right away... of planning an escape. When she was ordered to work... just a day after giving birth... they knew it was time. They and a few of the men... studied the guard rotation for weeks. They rationed food. When Ranec was bought... just over a week ago... he joined in the plan. But he convinced Nori and Dís... to raid the armory. Said they would need weapons to fight... and to defend against wild animals."

At that point, it became clear that Lita had reached her limit for speech. She began to vomit again, and then to seize, and ultimately to choke, until suddenly all movement and sound from her stopped. Elrond loosed a sigh of disappointment as he reached to close her unseeing eyes.


	74. Chapter 74

**It has been almost three months since my last update to this story. For the long delay, I am truly sorry. While much writing has gone on in my head, I simply could not find the motivation to actually sit down and put the images into words. It's a thing that happens to me sometimes—I can _want_ to write but not feel inclined to do the work no matter how much I want to. So much has happened in the last several months in my life that getting my Muse to cooperate has been a great struggle. But I know how much this story is loved by some, and I've been asked more than once if I was simply going to abandon it. **

**The answer to that is a resounding "No." I am so in love with Tolkien's world and the slightly alternate version of it I've created with the Forgotten Tales. This story is not finished and there are many more I want to tell. However, my mental state has simply not been in Middle-earth as much as you or I would like, and I can only say I will get new chapters to you whenever I am compelled to write them. Please be patient and bear with me as I do my best to shake off stress and anxiety and worry and get myself back to this wonderful place we all adore.**

 **Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to everyone who clicked the like and favorite buttons, and to those of you who are reading these words without having done either. I appreciate all my followers more than words can say.**

* * *

 **74\. Awakening**

* * *

"How fitting."

Thorin looked up at the sound of Glorfindel's voice—he had not even noticed when the Balrog slayer entered the room. He was standing next to a bench a few feet away, some leafy plant in hand that he'd never seen before.

"What, might I inquire, is fitting in this tragedy, Lord Glorfindel?" Elrond asked.

"Belladonna. That's what she ingested," Glorfindel replied. "You can see here where she picked the berries."

Thorin grunted. "The very same poison she used upon my sister."

"And to your sister, now, I suggest you return," Elrond told him. "Glorfindel and I will take care of Lita."

"It is good you do, for I want nothing more to do with her," Thorin replied as he stood.

"You are pleased then that she is dead? And here I thought you changed, Thorin."

He scowled. "I _am_ changed. But as Lita stated, her death is what she deserved. No dwarf possessed of honor would commit such an atrocity as she did against another of our kind. My sister deserved justice, and justice has, in part, been served."

Glorfindel looked to him. "In part?" he queried.

"Aye," Thorin said. "I know her father. He has caused nothing but grief for me since I made my residence in Dwarrowvale—in fact, he has tried twice to kill me, because he sought to marry his son to Princess Rejna. He arranged for his own son to be murdered simply because he prefers the company of males—though thankfully that plot was also foiled and Halvar lives. And we believe him to be behind the civil unrest that now plagues the kingdom, in league with the Brotherhood of Mahal."

On hearing those words, even Elrond grimaced. "I have heard tales of the Brotherhood, and few of them pleasant. I do not envy you the task you face."

"Indeed," he agreed with a snort. "So far we can prove nothing; that Hagen is behind it all is but supposition. Though to find that he is also responsible for the suffering of my sister... I am now even more motivated to bring him down. My only regret as to what has happened here is that Lita did not survive in order to serve as witness against him."

Thorin turned then on his heel and strode out. He made his way through the building and back outside, then paused for a moment as he tried to recall in which direction Dís' room lay. When it came to him he turned left and started off, and encountered Gilraen again as he made his way down the veranda. She still carried the basket from earlier, but now it was empty.

She smiled when she saw him and said, "I've been delivering towels to all our new patients. Some are more mobile than others."

He inclined his head toward her, allowing—for the moment, at least—the serenity she exuded to calm his rage. Gilraen had suffered a number of losses in her life; both her parents were gone as was her husband and one sister, but somehow, through it all, she had maintained her gentle and peaceful nature. She could have turned bitter and shrewish, but she had not allowed the tragedy of her loved ones' deaths to destroy her positive outlook on life.

Thorin envied that about her. He could think of little else at that moment besides wishing to exact vengeance against Hagen.

"You are kind to assist Lord Elrond in caring for these people, who have, from my understanding, suffered terribly," he said.

Gilraen shrugged a shoulder. "As I said to you once before, Elrond allows my son and I to live here in peace though we are not Elfkind. The least I can do is repay his kindness by helping out now and then."

He recalled now asking her the first time they had met why she did so much for the elves. "It is a noble reason," Thorin told her, nodding again before he started past. He took but a few steps before a thought occurred to him and he paused to turn back. "My Lady, have you any idea where Lita was before you last saw her? She had a child with her when first we met, but just now in the apothecary she was alone."

Gilraen smiled again. "I would not be surprised if little Zari is with my sister—Taendis is quite taken with her. Do you wish me to bring Zari to you?"

After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "I am told she is my niece. I suppose I ought get to know her."

"As you wish, my Lord. I will bring her to you straight away."

The Dúnadan then bowed her head and walked away. Thorin watched her for a moment before he continued on. More of the doors to the patients' rooms were open, presumably to let in the evening air. As he passed one, he recognized the occupant of the bed and turned inside.

When he was beside the bed, he looked down at Nori's bruised face; Thorin noted that one of his eyes was completely swollen shut.

" _Ikhminruk_ _astû, Iraknadad_ ," he said softly.

A soft snore sounded then from the sleeping dwarf. Thorin chuckled and, having seen that his cousin was alive and well with his own eyes, he turned and departed. When he arrived at last back to his sister's room, he walked in on Kíli filling her in on the marriage of his brother to Melindë.

"And guess what, _Amad_ ," Kíli was saying to the still-sleeping Dís as he held his mother's hand, "not only is Fee married, but he's soon to be an _adad_. You will be a grandmother only another two or three moons!"

Thorin smiled from the doorway as the younger dwarrow continued. "I know—it's about bloody time he settled down with one girl, right? You've only been on him about it since the day he turned seventy. For that matter, you've done with me as well, but you're like to be waiting far longer for me to give you any grandbairns—if ever I do. First girl I ever gave my heart to turned out not to be meant for me."

It was only then that Kíli seemed to take notice of him. A slight grin appeared as his nephew looked his way, pleasing Thorin that he did not seem bitter about losing Tauriel in that moment as he had so many times in the past.

"Of course, if Fee and Uncle and Dwalin are right—I know, rare that they agree, let alone that they're right," Kíli said as he looked back to his mother, "I ought not give up on the idea of love like most dwarves do in my situation. They seem to think that since they were so blessed, surely Mahal will see fit to have chosen someone for me as well."

"We _are_ right," Thorin growled softly as he finally stepped inside the room. Kíli watched him as he walked over and dropped into the chair on Dís' left before speaking again.

"What did Lita have to say?"

The question was softly uttered, as though the boy knew already his recounting of the trials of his mother would not be pleasant. It would not be pleasant for Thorin to have to repeat Lita's tale, but he did so—attempting, much to his surprise, to not let his own anger influence his account. Kíli grew understandably enraged when he revealed that Lord Hagen was behind the plot to poison and ultimately murder Dís, but his nephew sighed at the end and wondered aloud as he had in silence,

"So Hagen was the one giving Lita orders… but who was giving _him_ orders?"

There was little time to spend contemplating the question, as at that moment Gilraen appeared, and in her arms was a wide-eyed baby girl. The lady moved to stand at Thorin's left, and he turned in the chair so that he might take in the infant's face. Her eyes as she stared seemed curious, and she gurgled as she waved a tiny fist. Slowly, so as not to frighten the babe, he lifted his hands toward her. Gilraen immediately bent so that she could hand the little one over.

A moment of silence passed as he held her up under her arms, her feet dangling toward his knees.

"Awful scrawny for a dwarf, isn't she?" Kíli observed.

"You must not forget, Master Kíli, that your sister is half-man," Gilraen pointed out kindly.

"Oh, right. Given that Mother was in Rhûn when she…conceived her…that would make her sire… an Easterling?"

Thorin's peripheral vision allowed him to see his nephew's shudder at the thought that his mother had been forced into an Easterling's bed. Though his nephew had never set eyes on one of the Men of the Far East, he'd heard the same tales of the vile creatures they were as Thorin had as a boy. It bothered him deeply as well, and thus was an effort to remind himself that Lita had claimed the man was kind to them.

He studied the baby's features. Her black hair was already down to her shoulders, where it curled, and her skin was the same shade of brown as the clay he'd seen in the riverbeds in the Valley. Her lips were plump and at present blowing bubbles as she continued to gurgle at him.

"She is thin, and on the small side for stature," he said at last, before turning her to face her brother. "But her eyes are Durin blue."

Kíli's own widened slightly as he got his first good look at his baby sister's face. "She looks like _Amad_ ," he said softly. "Except, you know, with browner skin."

"I predict Zari will be quite the exotic beauty when she is older," Gilraen said with a smile. "No doubt her brothers will both find themselves quite busy warning away potential suitors with their stern glares."

Thorin turned the baby back to face him and set her in the crook of his arm. "I wonder where Dís got that name—I do not think it of Dwarvish origin."

"Lord Elrond made the same observation when first the refugees came to us," the Dúnadan said. "Lita explained that it was an _epessë_ , what you would call a nickname. Her full name is Zarlûna."

"Wish-lady?" Kíli queried with a frown. "Whyever would Mother name her that?"

Thorin looked over at him. "Zari is a female that represents a wish fulfilled. Think about what Lita told me, _Irakdashat_ : Before Nori arrived—and surely he would have told her of us—your mother believed she had little reason to continue living, having suffered as she had. She prayed to the Maker for a sign she should keep fighting, and though he should have simply told her you and your brother were alive, shortly after she conceived your sister."

Gilraen nodded. "Prayers and wishes are much the same—they are oftentimes the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts."

Kíli nodded and looked down to his mother's sleeping face. "Ah, now that makes sense. _Amad_ always had a reason for everything she did."

"She saw purpose and order in every action, or at least looked for it, as she loathed chaos and disorder. It is what made her such a formidable taskmaster," Thorin said with a chuckle. "You'd best hope that Zari has not inherited that aspect of your mother's personality."

"Oh, I certainly hope not!" Kíli replied, laughing. "One of my mother was quite enough!"

 **-...-**

Pain and fear followed her through her dreams. Dís loathed being afraid of anything, but she could not prevent the feeling from taking hold. In her mind, to be afraid, to allow fear to control her, was to have a demon riding upon her back.

She'd been fighting that demon since the day her boys left the Blue Mountains. It had laughed at her when her heart was shattered by the news they had perished in battle. For years she had wished she could just die and be with them, her beloved sons and her husband—her entire family—but no. The demon would not grant her peace. He tortured her mind and her body wasted away, too weak even to give up.

Mahal had made her a promise, and he had not kept it. She was supposed to see her sons again in this world before he would bring her home, but it had never happened. Only in her fevered dreams had she seen their smiling faces.

And then the demon was silenced, for a time, when Lita had taken her from her crypt and into Dale. When she had confessed to being ordered to prevent her from conceiving another Heir of Durin—as if she would even want to try when she had vowed never to give herself to another after Síli's death.

The demon rose again when they were taken from the market on one of their walks to get her strength back. She and Lita and several others were transported into Rhûn and sold into slavery like so much cattle, as though people could be bought and traded like any other piece of property. It mattered not that Adiv, their first master, had overall been a kind man. He was still a slave owner. He was still the man who promised her ease only if she agreed to share his bed—otherwise she would work as hard, if not harder, than the other slaves.

Dís hadn't wanted to give in to him. Had worked herself to illness at just the thought of allowing him to touch her. But in the end the laughter of the demon, the fear that Adiv would eventually force himself on her, had torn down her resolve. She then only had to cook and keep his private chambers clean, whereas the other female slaves were worked to near exhaustion each day keeping the house, furniture, rugs and linens free of dirt and grime.

And then that which Lita had gone north to prevent happened. Dís realized she had conceived only a month after first laying with Adiv. She decided she would not be angry about it; though she was still wounded by breaking her vow to Síli, she had been praying to Mahal—begging him—to give her some sign she shouldn't just end her misery with a blade to the heart. When the truth of her condition came to her, it could only be his answer that she had to go on. That there was hope still.

Adiv had been delighted by the news and doted on her as though she were his wife. He cared not that his child would be part dwarf, only that he was to be a father, for he had longed to sire children.

Then, of course, he had been lured to the west by the promise of riches, or so she assumed. He never discussed his business dealings with her, only informed her after they were set what he had done. They were going west to Dunland, and she could bring one of the other ladies to be her companion, for he desired she and his child be cared for while he worked. Dís chose Lita because she knew her best of all the others, and because she was the only female not incensed by their master's choice of her rather than one of them.

The Dunlending chieftain with whom they met some weeks after their departure was ugly and crude and he leered at her and Lita. He offered to "take the dwarf whores" off Adiv's hands. Her master refused him, which angered the fellow. Whatever deal they'd had going before was called off, and the men were ordered to prepare for their return east the following morning.

Adiv never saw morning. Neither did most of the men in their party. The raid on their encampment was quick and vicious, and Adiv's throat was split right before her eyes. She and Lita were hauled unceremoniously to their new master's domicile, forced to their knees, and told in no uncertain terms what would be expected of them. The only thing that saved Dís from being forced into another man's bed was the child she carried, though it did not save her from the next several months of exhausting work. Of being smacked around or denied food (or both) when she failed to complete even the simplest tasks because she was just too tired.

She was as astonished as could be when, in mid-November, a face all too familiar appeared in the slaves' hut. Nori, the slickest, quickest thief she had ever known, had been traveling north toward Erebor when he was captured. On seeing her, Nori had been confused—she was supposed to be dead. Once she and Lita had convinced him of her identity, however, Dís received yet another shock:

Her boys, and her brother, were alive. Mahal had pleaded with Sulladad for their return to Middle-earth and his wish had been granted. Nori had just come from Dwarrowvale, a dwarf kingdom in the White Mountains so little known she had never heard of it, where he and Balin had been witness at Thorin's wedding to the crown princess.

And she'd thought nothing else could so thoroughly stun her. Her eldest brother, who had vowed he would take no wife nor sire any children and dedicate his life to returning his people to their rightful home, was a married dwarf. Her eldest son was married to a Dúnadan and expecting a child. Dwalin, of all dwarves, was married to a hobbit and expecting a child, even!

The news of her family's return, their thriving in their new home, and the upcoming birth of her third child renewed Dís' spirits tenfold. She became more determined than ever to free herself from captivity, but the timing was not yet right. She was too close to her due date to take the risk. So she and Nori, and a few of the men who were slaves, planned in secret. Watched the guards, hid food and clothing. And a month after Nori arrived she went into labor and brought forth a daughter into the world. Zarlûna, she called her, for she was the embodiment of a wish fulfilled.

Being ordered to work only a day after giving birth told Dís that the time to make her escape was soon to come, though Nori had agreed to wait until her strength was recovered and the baby was a little older. Another dwarf came into their midst just a week before, and was taken into their confidence. The only thing they didn't have set for their plan was weapons, and on the night they had chosen to make a break for it, Ranec suggested an alteration: they should raid the armory to get swords with which to defend themselves.

It proved to be an unwise choice. Dís wasn't sure what went wrong, but they were caught. Because she, Nori, and Ranec were the masterminds of the plan to escape and steal weapons, they were the most severely punished. After a number of blows to the head Dís lost consciousness, and knew nothing more. But she lived the last few years over and again in her dreams, fighting against the demon of her fear as she tried to claw her way back into the world.

At last, it seemed, she would succeed. A light began to pierce the darkness, and a voice she had not heard in six years brought tears to her eyes as with an effort they fluttered open.

"And that, _nan'ith_ , is why I should always be your favorite brother," Kíli was saying to Zari. "Because I am simply the best."

Dís cried out softly to see her youngest son and her daughter together. Kíli sat in a chair to her right, holding her little girl in the crook of his arm, a stuffed black animal in his free hand. He looked up at the sound and a smile spread as his eyes misted.

"Look who's awake at last, Zari," he said softly. " _Amad_ finally quit napping on us."

" _Mim bâhazunshê_ ," Dís said, feeling her throat tighten with emotion. He was here—her little raven was really here.

Kíli smiled again. " _Shamâkh_ , _Amad_. How are you feeling?"

Dís drew a breath. She still felt tired. Achy. Weak. But also wonderful. "I am well now I have seen your face," she replied.

Her son nodded. "I felt much the same when first I looked upon you. We thought you gone. It killed me to be brought back only to lose you. Though I know how I have felt this last year-and-a-half pales in comparison to what you have endured."

He lowered his face to look at the baby, the breath he drew then ragged. "I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise."

"Kíli," Dís said, and after a moment he raised his beautiful brown eyes to look at her. " _Dashatê_ , you have kept your promise. You could have stayed in the Great Forge with our kin, with the father you never truly knew. Yet you made the choice to return to this world. To me. I cannot put into words how much it means to me that you would forsake paradise for your mother."

"Even the Great Forge would not be paradise without you," Kíli countered. "I only wish we could have been reborn sooner."

"Yes," she agreed, pausing when suddenly she felt a cough tickle her throat. Kíli hurriedly moved to put Zari into the crib she saw across the room, then returned to her side and poured water into a cup from the pitcher on her bedside table. He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his hand under her head to help her take a few sips; the cool water felt amazing against the dryness.

"Better now?" he asked.

Dís nodded. "Aye, thank you." Kíli then set the glass aside, and looked back to her with a frown still in his eyes. She lifted a hand and he took it, and together they sighed.

"Son, though much would be different—though I wish more than anyone you had been reborn sooner—I must believe there is some reason for Sulladad's choice to send you here four years after your passing. You may never quite understand why—perhaps none of us will. But if you dwell on 'why', you will only drive yourself to madness. Believe me, I have already been there. It serves no purpose but to make you even more miserable."

She felt the demon clawing at her from the back of her thoughts, and wondered briefly if he would ever leave her alone.

In order to fight back against the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, she let her eyes roam over her surroundings. She was in a large, comfortable bed covered by a light blanket. The fireplace had trees carved into the wall on either side, their intertwining branches forming the mantle. The walls were pale and the architecture only vaguely familiar.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Rivendell," Kíli answered. "Rangers of the North raided the village where you were and brought you to the elves for healing."

Dís looked to him. "Nori? Ranec? Lita and the others?"

Kíli nodded. "They are recovering, save for Lita. She… she took her own life after confessing her part in what happened to you to Thorin."

She was only a little surprised by the disappointment she felt. Lita had done her a grievous wrong, but she had shown true remorse for her actions. She'd felt shame for ever agreeing to the plan her father had put into motion on the orders of some nameless master. Though she hated what had been done to her all those years, she had long ago forgiven the younger dam. It had simply been a waste of energy to hold onto her anger.

"So your uncle is here? Is your brother as well?"

"Aye, Thorin is here but Fee's still in Dwarrowvale. Balin said Melindë was too close to giving birth for him to leave her, as we could not be sure how long we would be in returning."

Dís frowned. "How long have you been here? How long have I?"

Kíli cleared his throat. "Glorfindel came to tell us you'd been found five days ago, and we've been here for three. You'd been here two days already when he arrived in the south."

"I've been sleeping for a week?!"

"Well, _Amad_ , you were pretty beaten up when the Rangers found you," Kíli told her. "Lord Elrond said you needed the rest to heal."

"Is your uncle behaving himself? I know how much he hates elves," Dís said then.

Kíli laughed. "You'd be surprised at how much his feelings toward them have changed. He even calls Glorfindel a friend."

"You're kidding! Thorin Oakenshield, friends with an elf?"

"There is no one more surprised by that state of affairs than I."

Dís and Kíli both looked toward the door, and the dam felt her eyes fill again to see her eldest brother standing there. His expression was wary, as though he feared her reaction, though she could not fathom why.

"Come closer, _nadad_ , and let me have a look at you," she said.

Thorin drew a breath and entered the room; he sat in the chair she now noticed on the left side of the bed. She looked him over, and when he did not speak, she said, "What is on your mind, Thorin? Six years it has been since last we saw each other—I should think our reunion would make you happy."

"I am happy, _nan'ith_ ," he replied slowly. "But the last time I saw you, you said you hated me, and I have feared your waking to tell me those sentiments remained."

Dís felt herself frown. "When the devil did I ever say I hated you?"

Thorin glanced across at Kíli before looking back at her. "You do not remember our coming to you in Erebor? It was the night you… Well, the night we thought you had died."

A sigh escaped her and she closed her eyes for a moment. "So much of those years you were gone, the years I was victim to Lita's poisons, are a haze of disjointed images and fevered dreams. I cannot be certain of what was real and not real, of who I saw or what I said."

She turned her head and held out her hand, which he took between his own. "If I truly said I hated you, Thorin, then I am sorry. Forgive me, _nadad_ , and rest assured that it was the madness and not my heart which caused such words to be spoken. It has taken me a long time to accept it, but though I may not have wanted my sons to go on that quest, I know it was their right to join you in taking back what was ours."

Thorin's breath rushed out of him and he bent his head to touch his lips to the back of her hand. " _Ikhminruk_ _astî, nan'ith_ ," he said softly. "Long has my soul been troubled with shame and regret for taking your sons from you."

"Erebor is retaken and my sons are alive and well," Dís told him. "Be not burdened by guilt any longer, _nadad_. Our family endures and is thriving—in fact, Nori told me that both Dwalin and Fíli were expecting little ones."

A grin suddenly lit her brother's features. "They are not the only ones," Thorin said. "My One also carries within her the future Heir of Durin."

Dís smiled hugely and gave his hand a squeeze. "Congratulations, brother! I am so happy for you. I know you thought next to nothing of having a family of your own, but I promise you that there is no greater joy than in having children."

"Indeed, I have never been so happy as I am with Rejna. To know she will soon bear me a son is a joy I cannot measure."

"Not that he took to the idea straight away," Kíli said with a snort. "Stubborn arse that he is, Thorin tried to deny the Maker's will because he thought himself too old for the princess."

"And most dams my age think themselves too old to conceive, yet I have given you a sister," Dís countered. "I only wish her sire had been the same as yours—if anyone of us ought feel guilty for breaking a promise, it is I. I swore when your father died I would give myself to no other, and yet—"

" _Amad_ , do not concern yourself," Kíli said when tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

"Indeed, _nan'ith_. I have little doubt that Síli would understand you doing what you had to in order to ensure your survival," added Thorin. "No female should be forced into a male's bed through fear or threat of violence. As detestable as the choice surely was, you did what was necessary."

"And you did get something in return," Kíli continued. "Zari's the cutest baby girl I have ever seen. Of course, she has you for her mother, so it's no wonder she's a beauty."

Dís chuckled. "Kíli, you flatter your old mother. Now go over there and fetch your sister, I have not seen her for many days."

He grinned and rose and took Zari from her crib, carrying her back to sit with her on the edge of the bed. Dís smiled when the baby smiled as though happy to see her. Perhaps she was—with infants as young as Zari, it was often hard to tell if they smiled because they were happy or full of gas.

The demon tried again to crawl out of its hole, but she knocked him back. _Not today_ , she thought fiercely. _Not today_.

* * *

 **Khuzdul:**

 _nan'ith_ \- sister that is young/new/fresh; "little sister"

 _Ikhminruk astû, Iraknadad_ – I thank you wholeheartedly, cousin. (Ikhminruk - "thank wholeheartedly"; astû - "you" respectful masculine singular)

 _mim bâhazunshê_ – my little raven (mim - "little"; bâhazunsh - "raven"; -ê - "my" possessive suffix)

 _Shamâkh_ – Greetings

 _astî_ – you (respectful feminine singular)


	75. Chapter 75

**Wow, will wonders never cease? I actually managed a second chapter in the same week—let's hope my muse really is sticking around a while.**

 **Many thanks, as always, to the following for leaving me a few words: Sparky She-Demon, Margie, Robinbird79, thewolf74, Eleleira, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, LoveMeSomeFili, dojoson41, and Emina. Thanks also to the following for clicking the favorite and follow buttons since my update in July: gail32, Kebi, dutchangel1979, NoxWillow, KaidzokuOu, SilverLark25, My Petal Heart, MrsTChrist, ImaginaryFriend103059, tegfhorn, Erithdiel, IfYouRememberMe. And of course I thank everyone who is just reading along—that you are following along at all means the world.**

 **Margie - Glad you think I've done well, and I am glad to be back in the world of Tolkien as well!**

 **LoveMeSomeFili - Yup, Dís is awake, Fee and Kee have a cute baby sister, and Hagen is still a scum bag. he will die, don't you worry. Thorin will see to it.**

 **dojoson41 - The "demon" in Dís' head is just her fear. She's been through a very traumatic experience, what with being steadily poisoned for four years, then sold into slavery, forced to sleep with her captor, and then accept that she's bearing his child. Then to be taken prisoner by someone far worse? Poor dam's going to have a lot of issues to work through. Elrond might be able to help her and surely senses she's a little messed up, but he's not going to force her to accept his help and Dís probably wouldn't ask out of pride.**

 **Emina - Dís definitely deserves to be reunited with her family! So happy to see you are still reading along. Wish I had a way to contact you, though, because I have a question I want to ask.**

* * *

 **75\. Tragedy Strikes**

* * *

Rejna kept herself as busy as she could—it was the only way she could keep from missing Thorin.

He had been gone a week now. A raven had arrived that morning to report that both Dís and Nori were awake and well on the mend. Fíli and Dwalin had been stunned to learn that the baby from Glorfindel's memory was in fact the former's younger sister. Thorin and Kíli hoped that before another week's end, Dís would be well enough to travel, for they intended to bring her back with them to Dwarrowvale.

Throwing herself into her duties and preparing for her child's coming kept her from thinking about her husband too much. She'd been separated from Thorin before, but not since their marriage. She hadn't realized she would long for him, for his touch or even his mere presence, as deeply as she did. She missed the comforting warmth of his arms around her as she fell to sleep at night, the way he would smile each day upon waking before he kissed her good morning.

Keeping herself occupied also kept her from worrying about Hagen—mostly. She was still uneasy about Thorin being gone, still feeling it deeply that the timing of Dís' discovery was bad. Certainly she was overjoyed for her One and his nephews that Dís had not died after all, that she would recover from all she had suffered. But with her husband gone, Rejna felt…vulnerable. She feared that whatever dark schemes Hagen had up his sleeve would soon be revealed, that he would take advantage of Thorin's absence to wreak even more havoc.

She was not alone in her concerns. While Dwalin remained devoted to his wife and newborn son, Rejna saw him often, for she, Fíli, and Melindë had been to see the new parents each day. Thorin's absence and what Hagen might do with him gone was as much discussed as his return with Dís and an infant in tow and what changes might be made to accommodate the two newcomers.

While she would be more than happy to welcome his sister and her child, Rejna just wanted her husband back. She wanted the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach to go away, for worry and fear and anxiety were wholly unnatural to her.

Bahûna, either sensing her distress or also missing her master, was never far from her sight. The wolf had even taken to sleeping at the foot of the bed each night, which the princess found comforting. Her fears did not bother her so much whenever that furry black body was curled up near her.

"Come, Your Highness," said Árni, his voice breaking into her thoughts. He and Dag stood side by side near the door to Dwalin and Larkspur's home. "It's getting late and you did promise the king you would at least share dessert with him."

Rejna chuckled. "So I did. Thank you for the reminder," she said, then stood from her chair. At the same time, Larkspur stood with little Dwalar in her arms.

"It's about time I put the wee one to bed anyway," the hobbit told them. "Do have a good night, Your Highness."

"And you as well," Rejna returned, before lifting her eyes to Dwalin. "And don't you go making her get up and tend to him on her own."

The warrior dwarf snorted, though there was a twinkle in his eyes as he regarded her. "I will have you know, Princess, that I have already changed several dirty nappies since my son were born."

Laughter bubbled from her as she waved to him and headed toward her guardians. It had become a nightly ritual for her to tease Dwalin about doing his share of the nappy changing, that Larkspur shouldn't have to do it all herself. Rejna knew perfectly well how very much Dwalin was in love with his little boy, how much he loved being a father though so little time had passed since Dwalar's birth.

As they left the Hobbit hole, a loud cry sounded. Rejna looked up, smiling at the falcon that circled overhead. The bird—Peré, she recalled—had been another constant presence around her since the day after Thorin's departure. At first she had found it strange a bird of prey would willingly spend so much time near to people, then her husband's letter had arrived. Amongst the news about Dís and Nori was a passage about the falcon, whom they were told was a long-time friend and companion to Lord Elrond's daughter-by-marriage. Lady Ranárë had sent the bird as a means to keep an eye on things, as she had known somehow that Thorin would require reassurance.

Rejna was grateful for the lady's foresight, and hoped that Thorin was indeed reassured—even if she herself was not.

She tried to dismiss her feelings for perhaps the thousandth time. It would not do to have her father asking questions about her health when his own was precarious. The "touch of congestion" he'd spoken of on the day she and Thorin gave him the news he would be a grandfather had lingered all through winter. He'd developed a cough that often interrupted his speech. Danug monitored him closely, performing check-ups every day. He gave to his king a number of medicines and tinctures that had helped calm his cough and minimize the spells, but to the healer's consternation the congestion remained. When he was not tending to her father he was, according to Irma, poring over medical texts hoping to find a treatment that would turn out to be a cure.

"Ah, there you are my beautiful daughter!" her father said when she entered the dining room at last. "And how is my grandson this evening?"

Rejna smiled and placed a hand over her belly as she took her seat. "He is just fine, _Adad_."

"Any movement?"

She shook her head. "I've not felt him move as yet—Irma said I should soon, however. I admit that I am actually pleased to not have felt him just yet, for I hope his father will be home to share the joy of that moment with me."

The king smiled. "Ah yes… I remember clearly the very first time your mother and I felt you move inside her."

Rejna felt her eyes widen and her heartbeat increase its pace. Though he had talked of her often when she was a little girl, as she'd grown older he'd talked of her mother less and less. Her cousin Elsa, Hakon's mother, had once told her that the reason was because as she'd grown, she'd started to look more and more like the late queen. Seeing her again, in the form of their daughter, was difficult enough for Ragin—to have to speak of her on top of that was akin to torture, as he had loved Helga so very much.

So she would treasure for the rest of her life whatever anecdote her father was about to share.

His eyes took on a far-off look. "I remember lying in bed, almost asleep, when I felt this poke in my back—your mother and I were lying on our right sides, she with her arms around me from behind. It was almost unnoticeable, so I ignored it at first, until it happened again and I heard your mother gasp. 'Ragin, my love', she said. 'Did you feel that?' I rolled over then and said, 'Aye, I did. Are you all right?'"

Her father smiled. "Your mother smiled the most brilliant smile as she said to me, 'I am more happy in this moment than any other in all my life. That was our child, Ragin. Our future.' I returned her smile then, and I kissed her, and then we…"

Rejna bit her lip to hold in a smile as his voice trailed off and his cheeks colored. Her father cleared his throat, which led to a coughing fit, and she was hard-pressed to remain in her seat as he fought to catch his breath—he had made it clear early on that he desired no pity for this ailment.

The server came in then with the dessert plates. She glanced briefly at her king, a look of worry flitting across her features before she schooled her expression, set the plates before them, then curtsied and departed. Rejna hoped the Edain girl was not a gossip, even though it was already known that Dwarrowvale's king was fighting an illness.

They spoke of pleasant things as they ate pieces of pecan pie—like the upcoming birth of her son, what kind of advice she was getting from her lady friends, and the upcoming planting season. Dwarrowvale's crops always tended to do well in the Valley fields and they were thankful that the people always had enough to eat. Even during times of drought or heavy rain, they found ways to make do when plant foods were scarce and the livestock thin—dwarf and man alike had always made do.

Rejna and her father talked long after the plates had been cleared away, but she could tell after a time he was getting winded, and so she gently suggested they both retire for the evening. He agreed and they made their way out of the dining hall. The princess did not part from her father until he was at his chamber doors, where they embraced warmly before bidding each other good night. At her own rooms further down the hall, she bid a good evening to Árni and Dag and a hello to the night guards before opening the door with a sigh as she remembered that Thorin would not be inside waiting for her.

As soon as the door was open, Bahûna growled beside her—and it was immediately clear why. Hagen stood before Telka, his hands gripping her arms.

"Just what the _razâd_ do you think you're doing here?!" she demanded, already planning in the back of her mind the sound tongue-lashing she would give to the guards for even allowing him inside her private quarters, let alone failing to inform her he was there.

Hagen turned sharply toward her; Telka rubbed her upper arms where he'd held her, an expression of trepidation in her eyes.

"I was attempting to reason with your maid, Princess," Hagen replied. "I wish to have a private audience with you to discuss certain matters, and she was refusing to grant it to me."

Rejna scowled. "As well she should. You have no right whatsoever to be in my private chambers, especially without my consent or presence. Beyond that, Telka does not make my appointments for me, my aide does. Speak to Melindë tomorrow if you wish to schedule an appointment, Lord Hagen. Now get out."

Hagen returned her scowl and stormed past her; Bahûna snarled and snapped at his heels. When he had gone, Rejna looked to the maid and asked, "Did he hurt you? Did he force his way in here?"

Telka shook her head. "I am unharmed, Your Highness. And… I let him in."

"What the devil made you think that was okay? You know how I feel about that dwarf."

"I do, Princess, but… He's a Lord, and I only a servant. I must do as I am instructed by my betters," the other dam said, her eyes cast down at her feet.

Rejna scoffed. "Something tells me those are his words, which he likely said to coerce you into allowing him past the doors. Let me tell you now, Telka, you are ten—no, a hundred—times the dwarrow Hagen is. Your position here may be as a servant to me, but that does not make you inferior, to me or to anyone else. However, if it is instruction you need, I shall tell you this: you take your orders from me, my husband, or my father, and no one else. Lord Hagen is not to be permitted into mine and my husband's private chambers at any time, is that understood?"

Telka nodded. "Yes, Princess," she mumbled.

Rejna drew a breath. "Now to have a word with the guards about _their_ mistake…"

 **-...-**

On learning she was to have a child, Rejna had sought to acquire certain other domestic skills she had heretofore had little need of knowing, given her position. She quickly discovered that not only was she apt with a needle and thread but rather good at it, which served to please her as she would be able to make things for her son with her own hands. She filled the last few evening hours with putting together some small tunics and trousers, before her fifth yawn told her it was time to get herself to bed. After putting her sewing things away, she gestured to Bahûna and they headed for the bedroom.

Telka she had dismissed hours ago, so she shrugged out of her clothes and brushed her hair on her own, then donned the sleeping attire she'd been wearing since the day of Thorin's departure—it was the tunic he'd worn the day before he left, and it still smelled faintly of him. She'd found his lingering scent comforting, and though she knew she ought to have it washed she had not been able to send it with the other clothes and linens.

Bahûna hopped up on the end of the bed and turned in a circle once, twice, before settling with a sigh. Rejna smiled and scratched the wolf behind the ears before she climbed under the duvet and settled against the pillow. Sleep, as she'd suspected, was not going to be easy to fall into. It hadn't been all week—at least for her. Bahûna, the silly pup, was snoring softly within minutes. A sigh escaped the princess, and she sifted slightly to get more comfortable.

Sometime later, she knew not how long, her bladder alerted her to a need to use the facilities. As she was coming back from the bathroom, she noted an odd shadow across the bed and looked up to see Peré in the window, silhouetted against the light of the moon. Rejna shook her head with a smile, feeling as though Thorin would hardly have cause to worry with her animal guardians keeping a close eye on her.

She was about to climb back into the bed when she heard a strange noise. Pausing, she listened intently, and sure enough she heard it again.

There was someone in the secret tunnel.

Behind the bookcase to the right of her bed was the entrance to a secret escape tunnel, one of many carved into certain rooms of the palace to allow the royal family a chance to escape should there ever be a siege. No one was supposed to know about them except the royal family and their personal guardians, though Telka had discovered the existence of the tunnel some years back; she had simply wanted to be alone, without a second shadow, and had used the tunnel in her room to leave her chambers. She'd also used it to return, hoping her absence from her rooms had not been noticed, and her maid had caught her sneaking back in.

As quickly and quietly as she could, Rejna slipped on her robe, grabbed a knife she had always kept in her bedside table, and picked up the candle sitting atop the table. Making her way carefully over to the bookcase, so as not to wake Bahûna, she reached it and pulled out the false book that triggered the release of the door. Thankfully the hinges were still well oiled and the door made no noise as it opened.

Cautiously she stepped through the opening, the knife held ready. In her mind she wondered who could possibly be in the tunnel, how they had known about it. Was it simply a wild animal that had wandered in from the outside? She relaxed a fraction as she had that thought, as it seemed far more plausible than that a person had wandered in. The exit was as well concealed as the door in her room, and there were no other ways in or out of it.

She had traveled a quarter of the way through the tunnel before she paused in her trek. The noise had not been heard again, and Rejna began to wonder if she'd only imagined it. She started toward a flight of stairs then abruptly changed her mind; this was absurd. She'd been hearing things, and she really ought to get back to her room and just go back to bed.

At least, that was her thought until a scent wafted past her nose. She knew that smell, and frowned as she tried to place where she knew it from.

Rejna barely had time to scream as a pair of hands grabbed her roughly from behind and threw her forcefully down the stairs.

 **-...-**

Thorin was very pleased. Dís and Nori had made remarkable strides in their recovery in just a few days. After some discussion, it was decided that his sister and his niece would be travelling back to Dwarrowvale with him and Kíli—according to Dís, her sentiments were those of her sons, that Erebor was little more than stories to her now. She had few memories of their home from the scant ten years she had lived there in her youth, and the last four she had spent in it were filled with misery.

Perhaps one day, she said, she might be able to go back and look upon those majestic halls with pride. But it would not be anytime soon.

She was more than happy to be going where her sons and her brother lived. Dís was eager to meet the new ladies in the family, Melindë and Rejna especially. Kíli told her all he could of his brother's wife, from her terrible treatment in years past to how much she had grown in confidence since being with Fíli. Soon after Rejna had begun to take audience in her Queen's Court, she'd seen how eager Melindë was to learn about government and took her on as an executive assistant. The Dúnadan thrived even more to have a productive role to play in her family and the kingdom as a whole.

Thorin, of course, was more than happy to talk of Rejna, and of the son she would bear him in half a year's time. He admitted to the stubbornness he had suffered under, thinking himself too old for the princess, which earned him a well-placed cuff upside the head. Rubbing the spot, he had stared at his sister and then burst out laughing—if she was of a mood to start smacking sense into him, she was definitely feeling better. And while he would certainly not admit it out loud, he had missed even that, the way Dís would clock him in the shoulder or head for his being an idiot. He knew that it was just her way of showing how much she loved him and wanted the best for him.

Given that he and Rejna were now married and expecting a bairn, he had pointed out, he had obviously come to his senses. Now that he had her in his life, Thorin confessed, he could not imagine ever living without her. And while there was still a part of him that felt she deserved a mate with whom she would have more time, he knew that he would never give her up.

The only thing Dís had questioned was why he still persisted in keeping his true identity a secret. Thorin had explained as best he could his reasons, but admitted he felt the time was coming that he would be forced to step back into the light, as it were.

Nori told them that once he was fully recovered, he would continue on to Erebor as he'd originally begun to do. Ranec, who'd been headed to Erebor himself from the Blue Mountains, would be traveling with him. Elrond pledged to outfit them both with weapons for their protection and as much food as he could for the long journey through the Misty Mountains.

Though they had been taking their evening meals in the Rangers' hall, enjoying the boisterousness of folk that were more like their own kin than the elves, Thorin had shown his host some courtesy by joining him and his family for breakfast each morning. He got to know Elladan and Elrohir better and agreed privately with Glorfindel that the twins and his nephews were much alike, and that he feared the day the four of them would all be together—especially as there had been a few pranks played between the twins and Kíli, which Nori had joined in once he was mobile.

Ranárë, the twins' wife, was quite the enigmatic figure. The fact that she was both Maia—as was Gandalf, he learned, which certainly explained a few things about the wizard—and Vala, making her kin to Mahal himself, led to his quickly understanding why even Elrond often deferred to her judgment. And though he tried to keep himself in check, he was as in awe of the fact that she was akin to a sister to the Maker as he was that she had chosen to have two husbands instead of only one. But it was not hard to tell, on seeing the three of them together, that she loved them both equally, and that both Elladan and Elrohir each loved her deeply in return. The latter twin doted on his niece, and the former was a devoted father. They were hoping that soon their own sister would come to see the little girl.

Thorin was roused from a sound sleep by banging on his door. With a growl, he sat up and threw on a robe, tying it as he strode to the door of the guest room Elrond had assigned him. He opened it to find one of the twins staring down at him. A quick check of which side his identifying braid fell on told him it was Elrohir.

"My Lord Thorin, you must come quickly," the elf said, alarm in his voice.

Thorin frowned. "What has happened? Has my sister relapsed?"

She couldn't have, he thought. She'd surprised even Elrond with the speed of her recovery, and plans had already been made for their departure in another two days.

"Nay," Elrohir replied. "It would seem there is trouble in Dwarrowvale."

His frown descended into a scowl before his eyebrows then lifted in alarm. Trouble in Dwarrowvale…Rejna!

He reached for the elf's arm, grabbing hold of it tightly. "How do you know this? Is it my wife?" he demanded.

Elrohir pried his hand off without complaint. "Peré, my Lord. Remember we explained to you that Ranárë shares a deep connection with her animal friends—Peré has alerted her to a disturbance. I have no details as I was sent to fetch you straight away."

Thorin nodded curtly and turned back into his room. He hurried to dress and was ready to go in moments, and he followed Elrohir's hurried steps to the family's private parlor. Elladan sat next to Ranárë on one of the sofas, her hand in his, while she stared off into the distance. Elrond stood by the fireplace, gazing on the lady with concern, until he and Elrohir strode in.

"What happened?" Thorin demanded.

"We are not yet certain," Elrond said. "Ranárë is attempting to glean the details even now."

"Wolf," Ranárë suddenly said. "Wolf angry. Lady hurt. Lady hurt!"

Alarm and fear shot through him and he stepped closer to her. "What happened? What happened to Rejna?!"

 _My wife. My son. Mahal, don't do this to me. How can you force me to accept fate and then take all that I hold dear away from me?_

Ranárë cocked her head in a manner reminiscent of the behavior of birds. "Bad one. Bad one came. Wolf says bad one hurt lady, wolf smelled bad one in tunnel."

She suddenly blinked and shook her head, placing her free hand to her brow. Ranárë took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Peré can see the black wolf. She lays over your wife, Your Highness, protecting her. She won't let anyone near."

His head swam as fear struck his heart. Thorin swayed on his feet, until he felt a thick-fingered hand steady him. He looked to find Kíli at his side, an expression of concern on his brow.

When had he come in?

"I… I must get back. I must get back, but… it will be too late," Thorin lamented.

"No, it won't," said Ranárë.

" _Meleth nín_ , no," Elladan said. "You can't—you've told us how dangerous that is."

Ranárë looked to him with a soft smile. "Difficult, not dangerous. It is powerful magic and it will take much of my power, but that is only because I do not use it often."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Thorin snapped. "What has magic to do with my wife being hurt?"

"I can take you to her," Ranárë said as she stood. "One of the gifts of my Vala heritage is a deeper magic than any other in Middle-earth possesses. I can transport you to Dwarrowvale in minutes."

"Then let's do it. Right now," he said.

"I must warn you that it will not be a comfortable journey. You will be extremely disoriented on our arrival, and once there I will not be able to help you regain your senses. I will have to focus on my own as I may need to communicate with the wolf in order to calm her."

"Agreed," Thorin said, then turned to Kíli. "Take care of your mother and your sister. Depart for Dwarrowvale in two days as planned."

"We will leave in the morning," Kíli said with a brief glance at Elrond. "I know you wanted her to stay a few more days, but our family needs us, and it will already take us more than a moon to get there."

Elrond nodded. "I would prefer she remain in order to gain more strength, but in truth, other than being physically weak your mother is fit to travel. My concern is that such a long journey will wear on her."

"Do you think she could travel safely on one of the Great Eagles?" Kíli asked. "I know it is not their place to serve as transport at our whim, but it would be a great service if we could get to Dwarrowvale in but a few days as opposed to a month or so, and _Amad_ would not be further weakened by strenuous travel."

"It cannot hurt to ask," said Elrohir.

His father nodded. "Indeed. Glorfindel seems to have as near an affinity with them as Lady Ranárë—I will send him to the outlook at first light. If your request is denied, we will prepare ponies and a wagon as planned, and send Rangers with you as escort."

"Thank you, Elrond," Thorin said. "For your service to my sister and her child, for that you have done for my kinsman, and what aide you will give for their safe travels. You are… not half bad, for an elf."

Elrond raised an eyebrow, and then a slow grin spread upon his countenance. "Nor are you, for a dwarf. I wish the best for you, my Lord Thorin, that your wife and son are saved from whatever harm has befallen them. _Namárië_."

Thorin mimicked the elf's hand-over-heart and bowed head. " _Aimugalikh_ ," he said, and turned back to Ranárë.

She stepped up to him. "Give me your hands. Think hard of where your wife is most likely to be."

He lifted his hands and she wrapped her thin fingers around his, surprising him with the strength he sensed in her grip. Ranárë closed her eyes and began to murmur in Elvish, and he soon felt his skin start to buzz. Thorin thought of Rejna, how she ought to be safely tucked away in their bed at that hour, nurturing their son in peaceful slumber. Moments later he closed his eyes against the dizzying sensation that had taken over his sense of balance; he felt like he was falling, falling down into a great chasm that seemed to have no bottom.

Without warning there was the sudden feeling of solid ground beneath his feet. Thorin opened his eyes but regretted doing so instantly, for it brought forth a powerful wave of dizziness and nausea. He let go Ranárë's hands and turned to retch, though there was little in his stomach to bring up other than bile.

"Thorin, what the devil?!" came Dwalin's voice through the fog. "How did you…? Who is that? How…?"

"There is…no time…to explain," Ranárë managed, as Thorin opened his eyes again—slowly—and realized he was standing in the parlor of his and Rejna's chambers. His companion stood to her feet as unsteadily as he. "Take us to the wolf."

Dwalin nodded curtly, and as he and Ranárë followed, Thorin felt the nausea slowly subside, though the light-headedness persisted. He then noted a small crowd was gathered around the double doors of his bedroom; there were Rejna's guardians, the regular night guards, Fíli, Larkspur, and Melindë. He could hear low-pitched growling coming from the bedroom.

"We came as soon as the guards alerted us," Dwalin was saying. "Of course the wolves came along and it was our hope that Asrân and Thafar would calm Bahûna, but instead they've joined her!"

"The males joined their sister in protecting the princess?" Ranárë asked.

"Aye, and not even Larkspur, to whom they are all supposed to listen according to Gandalf's spell, can command them to desist."

"I think we ought to just shoot them," said Dag. "Not to kill, just an arrow to the leg or something—whatever it takes to allow us to get in there to Rejna."

Thorin pushed his way to the fore of the crowd, and felt his heart drop to his knees at the sight of Rejna sprawled on the floor at the foot of the bed. The gray and white wolves stood before her and the black lay across her legs; all three growled low in their throats.

"She is their alpha," Ranárë said as she took in the scene before them. "Bahûna leads the pack, and commands them to aid in keeping Rejna from further harm."

"How do you know this?" asked Árni.

"She can understand them," Thorin replied. "The Lady Ranárë has many gifts, among them an affinity with predators."

He looked to the female at his left. "What are they waiting for? Do they not understand that she needs our help?"

At the sound of his voice, Bahûna's head snapped up. She barked loudly, then lifted her head and howled a mournful note. Asrân and Thafar echoed the sound, and from the window Ranárë's falcon shrieked.

Ranárë knelt slowly, and began to growl in a tone eerily similar to that of the wolves. Bahûna snapped off a sharp series of barks in response.

"She wants you—and only you—to come inside," she said. "Move slowly, my Lord, for though you are granted leave to enter, they will not hesitate to attack if they think you mean the princess harm."

A mixed sensation of gratitude and disappointment entered Thorin's mind. It was heartening to know that the wolves were so protective of his mate, but that they did not trust even him hurt just a little.

"Bahûna," he said softly as he neared. "I would never harm Rejna. Surely, my friend, you know this. She is my life, as is our son. Let me help her."

The black wolf's blue eyes followed him, unblinking, as he stopped next to Rejna and cautiously knelt down. He reached forward and put his fingers to the base of her throat, relief washing over him at the beat of her pulse.

But it was weak and erratic. Looking down, he noticed bruises had begun to form on her face and there was blood on her cheek and in her hair from a gash on her temple. Fear and rage collided within him.

He looked to Bahûna and held her gaze. "I will kill whoever has done this, you have my word."

Bahûna barked again, followed by a deep growl.

"The bad one did it," Ranárë interpreted. "She smelled him in the tunnel when she went to find the lady."

"The bad one?" Árni queried at the same time that Thorin noticed the bookcase leading to the secret escape tunnel was ajar.

More growling issued from Bahûna. "She woke to find the princess gone, saw that the tunnel was open, and followed her scent inside. She found her lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs, and dragged her back here by the collar of her robe."

"Thank you for bringing her back," Thorin said to the wolf. "Now please, let me help her. Let me get her to the healers, that they can tend her wounds and take care of her and the child. Please, Bahûna."

Bahûna stared back, then suddenly stood and moved over to stand beside him. She lowered her head and licked Rejna's cheek, then lifted it again and nuzzled his chin, howling softly.

"She's afraid," Ranárë said, which caused a number of the dwarves around her to snort.

"Could have fooled me," Fíli muttered.

"Afraid for the princess and her child, Master Dwarf. She has not uttered a sound since Bahûna found her."

As Ranárë explained, Thorin reached for his wife, sliding his hands under her shoulders and knees and lifting her against his chest as he carefully stood. Rejna was limp and her head lolled against his shoulder, sending a spike of fear into his heart.

 _I cannot lose them_ , he thought as he turned toward the bedroom door, where the gathered friends and family parted to let him pass. _I cannot lose them_.


	76. Chapter 76

**I didn't get this to you right away, but at least it wasn't several months worth of waiting, lol.**

 **Big thanks as always to my reviewers. Last chapter I got some kind words of thought from Robinbird79, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Sparky She-Demon, Rohirrim Girl 2187, AmandaBaker852, Eleleira, ValarenOfGondor, djhay4, LoveMeSomeFili, Emina79, yshxf, and readergirl4985. Much thanks also to AmandaBaker852, mochipeachie, Elina79, and The-glass-paperweight for clicking the favorite and follow buttons! And of course, thank you to everyone who just reads along.**

* * *

 **76\. Breakdown**

* * *

"Thorin, wait."

Ranárë's tired voice halted him in mid-step, though he did not turn to face her. "What?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I advise you to keep your wife here and send for the healers," the Maia-Vala said. "We know not the extent of her injuries and a long trek to your halls of healing—even in your strong arms—may be detrimental."

"It _is_ a long walk to the Hall of Medicine, Uncle," Fíli said softly.

Thorin drew a breath, then turned slowly to face Ranárë. "Can you help her while we wait?"

"I am not a healer," Ranárë said, "and I am still weakened from the transference, but I will do what I can."

With a short growl, Thorin stepped back into the bedroom and laid Rejna down as gently as he could. "Fíli, run as fast as you possibly can to the Hall of Medicine and fetch Irma. Bring Danug as well, we may need him."

"Yes, Uncle," Fíli replied. He heard him kiss his wife and then bolt for the door.

Ranárë climbed onto the bed on Rejna's right side, then sat and crossed her legs as she laid her left hand on his wife's forehead and picked up her right in her own. Her eyes fell closed and she began to murmur in Elvish.

Thorin chanced a look at those who remained. Dwalin was issuing orders to the four guardsmen.

"You two," he said to the night guards, "return to your post. Árni, Dag—now that we can get in the room, get yourselves a torch or two and walk that tunnel to the end. See if you can find any evidence of who attacked the princess. And once you've located the exit, set guards on it."

"Aye, Lord Commander," Árni replied immediately. He and Dag lifted their hands over their hearts and headed out, the night guards in tow.

Dwalin then looked to Thorin. "I will go and notify the king. The wolves will be here to guard you all."

Thorin only nodded, then returned his gaze to Rejna's bruised face. He could hear Larkspur and Melindë speaking softly in the sitting room but paid them no heed.

"Can you tell me anything?" he asked Ranárë.

An indrawn breath sounded, and then, "Princess Rejna has some serious injuries, my Lord. Beyond the cut to her head she has a severe concussion; there is also a fractured rib, two broken fingers, stress fractures in both legs, elevated blood pressure, and a great deal of bruising. She was extremely fortunate not to have ruptured any organs. I have settled her heartbeat and pressure as best I can, but she still needs tending by the healers."

"And... and our son?"

"Thorin..."

At her tone, he looked up, and hope sprang in his breast at the soft smile she favored him with.

"From what I can tell, the babe is unharmed. His heartbeat is steady, but he will be affected if his mother goes untreated."

Árni and Dag returned, each with a torch in hand. They paused and looked upon the still form of their princess before stepping over to the escape tunnel entrance and moving past the bookcase door out of sight. King Ragin burst into the parlor moments after they'd gone, startling Larkspur and Melindë—having not heard a baby at all, Thorin suddenly realized that Balin must have stayed back at the hobbit hole with Dwalar. The three wolves growled but were silenced by a command from Larkspur.

 _Now they listen to her_ , Thorin thought morosely.

Ragin stopped short as he reached the bedroom door and fell silent for a moment, before saying in a breathy voice, "I will not ask by what magic you are brought here, my son, but I praise Mahal for allowing it."

"You may thank his kin," Thorin replied, waving a hand at Ranárë.

"Who are you?" the king demanded.

Ranárë turned her head toward the king and bowed it as she placed a hand over her heart. " _Le suilon_ , _Aran_ Ragin. I am Ranárë. My sire was brother to Aulë, whom you address by the name Mahal."

"So you brought him here? How did you know he would be needed?"

Before Ranárë could reply, Peré squawked from the window. "I dispatched my friend Peré to keep a watch over Her Highness while Lord Thorin was with my kin in Imladris. My connection with her is…very deep. It was she who alerted me to your daughter's circumstances."

"Will she be all right? What about my grandson?" Ragin pressed.

"I have assessed her injuries and I believe Princess Rejna will recover, in time. Thus far I have sensed no indication the babe is in danger, but I must warn you that could change," Ranárë said, and Thorin looked up at her words. She turned her gaze to him. "As I said, his heartbeat is steady—but I cannot give you any guarantee that there are no injuries beyond my ability to detect. I am simply not strong enough, nor even trained to make such a determination. I was only able to sense what healers refer to as surface injuries, and was led to them by her pain."

Ragin stepped up to the foot of the bed. "You are not a healer, then?"

Ranárë shook her head. "No, my Lord. I am a warrior. My presence in Middle-earth is solely to eradicate the remnants of Morgoth's evil from these lands."

"What about Elladan and Elrohir? What of Valariel?" Thorin found himself asking.

She smiled softly. "My husbands, and my daughter, are very unexpected blessings. I fought darkness almost entirely alone for thousands of years. My purpose was enough for me… until the day it wasn't."

He almost echoed her smile, for he knew the feeling all too well.

Moments later Irma and Danug rushed in ahead of Fíli, the former gasping loudly at the sight of the princess. She then sobered and ordered everyone out. It was with great reluctance that Thorin laid Rejna's hand beside her, and he bent and touched his lips gently to her brow before he turned away. He walked with heavy steps beside the king into the parlor, Ranárë following but pausing behind him to tell the healers what she had discerned of his wife's condition, before she stepped last out of the bedroom and closed the doors behind her.

The wait was agonizing for Thorin. He refused even the ale Melindë brought to him, unable to consider drinking or eating anything until he knew how Rejna fared. Ranárë, on the other hand, accepted not only ale but the plate of food she was offered, quietly remarking how the nourishment would help her restore her energy faster. About an hour had passed when a knock at the door was answered by Dwalin, and Árni stepped inside. He showed to them a dagger Thorin recognized as belonging to Rejna as well as a snuffed candle in its holder, which he said he and Dag had discovered at the bottom of the first set of stairs in the tunnel, along with a few spots of blood. After walking to the end, he'd posted Dag at the exit until he could fetch guards to replace his partner, whom he then sent off to bed to rest.

"I regret that we discovered no evidence of Her Highness' attacker in the escape tunnel," the captain finished.

"Of course not," Thorin said with a derisive snort. "Every bloody time that bastard Hagen has pulled some stunt, he's managed to cover his tracks."

He looked up then. "But perhaps this time he made a very costly mistake—Bahûna smelled Rejna's attacker. She referred to him as 'the bad one'. Who else could that apply to?"

"No one," Fíli said. "Hagen's had a hate-on for you since we arrived."

"But if he hates Thorin so much, why would he attack the princess?" asked Larkspur.

"Because, _Kardûna_ , Rejna has happily declared to all and sundry that Glorfindel said her child would be male," Dwalin answered. "Even if he gives no credence to the mystical abilities or word of an elf, he cannot take the chance he is right, as the babe will come before the end of their first year of marriage."

"Thereby nullifying his preposterous motion to dismiss my daughter's inheritance," Ragin added.

"Wait… Are ye saying that Lord Hagen wanted ta force Her Highness ta lose her baby?" Melindë queried, a mix of disbelief and fear in her tone as one arm wrapped protectively on her own protruding abdomen.

"It would appear so, _Ibriz_ ," Fíli confirmed.

Thorin suddenly surged to his feet with a roar. "I will _kill_ him!"

"You will do nothing of the sort."

Pausing in mid-stride as he headed for the door, Thorin whirled on the king. "You _cannot_ be serious! He has attacked my wife and tried to kill my child—do not _dare_ tell me I will have no vengeance!"

Ragin stood and faced off with him. "Thorin, you will do nothing. You will take no action against Lord Hagen—"

He could not believe what he was hearing. "Have you not heard a word that has been said here? Did you not see the damage that was done to my wife? Did you not hear Ranárë when she said there remained the possibility that my son could be lost? I cannot sodding _believe_ that you stand before me and tell me I can do _nothing_! Are you truly so blind, or have you gone soft in your old age that you care nothing for the suffering of your own kin?"

Thorin's voice rose in pitch with each word, his fury at Hagen's cowardly act now mixing with outrage that Rejna's own father was seriously advocating not seeking justice.

The king was immediately in his face, standing nose-to-nose as he let go his own control. In the back of Thorin's mind it registered that Bahûna had started growling, followed by her brothers.

"Don't you dare speak to me as though that is not _my daughter_ on the other side of that door!" Ragin bellowed. "Rejna may be your One, Thorin, but she was born to _me_. She is of _my_ flesh and blood and I have loved her far longer than you! For Mahal's sake, she is the only reason I am still alive!"

As quickly as he had grown red and filled with rage, Ragin suddenly seemed to deflate, and he backed away to drop heavily onto the sofa. He lowered his head into his hands and sat that way as he took three deep breaths. "When my wife died soon after birthing our child," he said, "I felt lost without her. So very lost. There were numerous times I seriously entertained the notion of falling on my sword so that I could join Helga in the Great Forge, as life without her was to me not worth living."

The king looked up at him then, and the true depth of his pain broke through the angry fog enshrouding Thorin's brain.

"My daughter saved me. One night her cries broke through my despair and it occurred to me with unwavering certainty that she _needed_ me—and that Helga would never forgive me if I left Rejna here all alone."

Ragin heaved a great sigh, then said, "Do not mistake my composure for ease, _agnât'dashat_. I am the king. I cannot condone the taking of a life, even one so foul and wasteful—and believe me, hated—as Hagen. I intend to see that he pays for what he has done, of that you can be sure, but it _must_ be handled according to the law. If I just let you go off and kill him, it would make me no better than him when he hired those dwarrow to kill you and your nephew, or when he hired those thugs to attack Halvar. We must rise above such base behavior and prove not only to the people but to Hagen that we are his betters."

It was, Thorin forced himself to acknowledge, the same stance he would be forced to take were he the king. He was loathe to admit it even to himself, however, and so conceded the point and his ire with an aggravated sigh and a nod. He then posed the question, "So what the feck do you propose we do?" _So long as, eventually, I_ do _get to kill him_.

Ragin shrugged and sighed heavily. "I don't know," he said. "At this moment, I can think of nothing more than the hope that Rejna and the babe will pull through this."

Fear spiked in Thorin's heart at those words, constricting his chest painfully. He fought to rein it in, to keep his head, but he could feel the self-control he had long prided himself on slowly slipping from his grasp.

"I…cannot think of that," he heard himself say. "I must… I have to focus… I can only think of how much I desire to kill Hagen for this treachery."

Turning away from Ragin, Dwalin, and everyone else whose eyes he could feel upon him, Thorin took a step toward the fireplace. "If I think about my wife… our son… I see the blood. The bruises. How pale she looked. I will feel… the fear… I will… I am terrified… that everything that truly matters to me… is being taken away from me."

His voice cracked on the last word, and as he made to take another step his legs gave out beneath him. Thorin fell hard to his knees as the dam broke and the terror he had felt on hearing that Rejna had been harmed flooded through him. He covered his face with his hands as tears fell and his breathing teetered on the edge of hyperventilation.

He _was_ afraid for Rejna, for their little boy who had not yet seen the world that awaited him, and it was tearing him apart.

"Why?" he cried, tilting his head back toward the heavens. "Mahal, why have you forsaken me? I was angry, yes, that you did not tell me of Dís, but please, I beg you do not punish me by taking away everything you sent me here to find. If it is a life you demand in recompense, take mine! Do not punish them for my sins. Not Rejna. Not our son."

His head fell again and his shoulders shook with emotion as he muttered, "Please don't take my little boy."

A moment later there was someone before him—he knew not who until he heard Fíli's voice.

"Uncle, look at me," his nephew said. When he did not reply, Fíli took his head in his hands and lifted it. "Thorin, look at me, and listen to me. The Maker will not take Rejna and the baby—he will _not_. Do you remember what you said to me when Melindë was attacked by Etten? You assured me that Mahal would not take away the gifts he had just given to me—and you were right, he didn't. Now I say the same to you. You, of all people, Uncle, deserve the joy a mate and children will bring to your life."

"And why am I so deserving?" Thorin countered. "What makes me so special?"

Fíli laughed without humor. "Need you really ask such a question? Uncle, you have sacrificed _so much_ of yourself for others, to the point of forsaking your own happiness. You led our people to the Khagal'abbad, you helped Mother raise Kíli and me, and you lead what others called a foolhardy quest to reclaim Erebor from Smaug. You are Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. And while you may not be King of Durin's Folk you are still his heir, as is your son."

The door to the bedroom opened then and Irma stepped out of it. Thorin rose at once and turned to face her.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," she greeted them with a nod off her head. "Danug and I have bound Her Highness's ribs and her broken fingers. The angle of the fractures suggests she was holding her middle, to cushion the child as she fell. Her head wound has been stitched and dressed. Due to the presence of the stress fractures Lady Ranárë detected in her legs, Rejna is not to walk anywhere, not even to the privy, for the next two weeks, at least."

"A-and my son?" Thorin managed.

The healer looked him in the eye. "As when Madame Melindë was attacked, I cannot say for certain if there are injures we simply cannot detect. However, when last I listened, his heartbeat was steady. A little slower than normal, but that can certainly be attributed to the trauma his mother has suffered. It will be several days before we will know one way or another if Mahal will call your son to him."

Ragin placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder, steadying him on one side while Fíli held him up on the other. "When can we see her?" the king asked.

"Right now," Irma said with a soft smile. "The princess is awake."

Thorin had never in his life moved faster.


	77. Chapter 77

**Welcome to the first chapter of 2018 - and delivered on the 1st still, technically, because it is still Monday in Hawaii! LoL**

 **A few life lessons I learned last year that you might take into the year ahead: One, never take the people you love for granted. Two, never think that it will never happen to you or someone you know. Three, you cannot ask someone a question, apologize to them, or maintain any form of open dialogue if they disable the only means of communication you have. Four, NO ONE has the right to tell you to "move on" or "let it go". So long as your memories of someone or something that happened are healthy and do not interfere with you living your life to the fullest, you go on and remember for as long as you damn well please. Moving on or letting go is for you to decide and nobody else. Five, there's absolutely no excuse for being blatantly nasty to someone, especially when all they were doing was asking for clarification, or for something they know someone else would have wanted them to have. On the other hand, if you know that someone's message is going to be filled with vitriol, don't even bother to read or listen to it, because you don't need that negativity in your life.**

 **Moving on... (see what I did there?)**

 **I really am very sorry about the long delays between chapters - I'm more disappointed than you are that I haven't been getting this story written, believe me. But I can only write when I feel the motivation to get what's in my head translated into words, and unfortunately it doesn't always work when I want it to. 2017 was chock-full of stress for me for a number of reasons, and there were times I just couldn't bring myself to write.**

 **However, it is a new year, and so I am hoping very much that means some renewed vigor for this story. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for me!**

* * *

 **77\. Recovery**

* * *

Rejna's heart beat faster as her eyes fluttered open.

"My baby!" she cried softly, her roaming gaze landing on Irma.

The healer offered a small smile. "Thus far, Your Highness, the little prince is still with us."

"Thus far?" Rejna pressed, her tone as frightened as she felt.

"It would seem you took quite a fall, Your Highness," said Danug, and the princess looked to see the dwarrow packing away medical supplies. It must have been a bad fall if she was being tended by her father's physician as well as her own.

"The truth of the matter is, the possibility of your losing the child is greater than was Madame Melindë's some months ago," Irma added softly. At Rejna's cry, she took her hand firmly and said, "However, my Lady, his heartbeat remains steady and you have neither broken your waters nor began any bleeding. Those are very positive signs."

"One of us should go and speak to the king and Prince Thorin—" began Danug.

"Thorin!" Rejna cried, lifting her hands to cover her face as tears spilled from her eyes. "He will be so angry when he returns and hears what happened!"

"He already knows, Princess," Danug told her. "It would seem that falcon there—" He turned and pointed to Peré, who sat in the window. "—was keeping watch over you. It somehow communicated with the elves and one of them was able to use their magic to bring your husband here."

Rejna's eyes widened in shock. "Thorin is here?! Oh, Mahal help me! Irma, am I allowed to sit up?"

"I would rather you didn't, at the moment," she said. "And though it is very late at night, you mustn't go to sleep for a few hours—I wish to be sure there are no head injuries beyond our ability to diagnose at present. I will allow for elevation of your head and shoulders with another pillow if that will make you more comfortable."

"Please, and if I may have anything for this headache, I would much appreciate one of your remedies," the princess replied.

Irma nodded, then looked to the other healer. "Danug, will you tend to Her Highness while I go and inform the family she is on the mend?"

"Of course. A bit of the peppermint oil for her head?"

"Yes, that should do," Irma replied, then turned away from the bed and moved to step out the door.

Near as soon as Danug applied the peppermint oil, Rejna felt some of the pressure in her head ease. When he had put it away he took the second pillow on the bed and placed it beneath her, lifting her head and shoulders a little, before he took the bedcovers in hand and settled them around her.

A minute or so later, the bedroom doors flew open and through them came Thorin, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and relief. Rejna began to cry again as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning down to kiss her brow beneath the bandage she had felt around her head.

" _My love, I beg you to forgive me!_ " Rejna cried in Khuzdul, her hands tightly gripping his shoulders. " _I am so,_ so _sorry to have been such a fool! I should not have gone into the tunnel alone!_ "

"Why did you?" her father asked, and it was then she noticed him standing at the foot of the bed.

"My love, calm yourself," Thorin pleaded at the same time. "Such excitement could cause harm to you and our son."

Rejna felt alarm flare in her breast, and so she fought to settle the guilt she had felt on seeing the terror in her husband's eyes. Drawing a breath, she released it slowly; Thorin wiped the tears from her face as she drew and released another.

"I got up to use the privy," she said in answer to her father's question, though her gaze was held by Thorin's own. "As our child grows, I must pass water more frequently. As I was returning to bed, I thought I heard a noise in the escape tunnel. At first I ignored it, thinking I was surely hearing things, but then I heard it a second time. I then wondered if some animal had found its way in through the exit, so I lit a candle and took my dagger from the bedside drawer."

Tears began to slip steadily from the corners of her eyes. "I should have woken Bahûna, but she was sleeping so peacefully. I did not want to disturb her, as she's been by my side every moment you have been gone. But oh, what a stupid mistake I made in not rousing her!"

" _Amrâlimê_ , please do not fret over this. I am concerned for you and the baby," Thorin said.

"But it was stupid!" Rejna cried. " _I_ was stupid! My stubborn pride led me to placing myself and your son in harm's way!"

Her husband sighed. "Yes, you made a mistake," he acknowledged. "But I daresay you will take from this experience a valuable lesson. And both you and our son are fine—you have survived the attack, and you will recover. He was not harmed. Irma said she has heard his heart and it still beats steadily."

"Rejna, did you see who attacked you?" her father asked then.

She looked to him. "No, I'm afraid not. My candle did little to dispel the dark, and my back was turned; I'd stopped at the first set of stairs feeling foolish for having gone into the tunnel at all, sure by then that I'd only been hearing things. I had turned 'round to start back when whoever it was grabbed me from behind."

"Fecking coward," Thorin growled. "He was brazen enough to assault you, but to not even face you when doing so is an even greater dishonor."

"I might not have seen my attacker, but I did smell something, right before he grabbed me," Rejna said, looking to Thorin again. "A scent wafted by on the air—I recognized it, but hadn't the time to recall where I'd smelled it before a pair of hands took me by the shoulders and threw me down the stairs. I think I cried out, but I'm not certain. All I could think to do was hold onto my belly and hope that it was enough to save our son, and I blacked out when my head smacked into the wall of the tunnel at the bottom."

Thorin's hands were curled into fists on his thighs, and for a moment his eyes closed; a vein throbbed at his temple and his jaw clenched. He was angry now. Good—she'd much rather see her mighty husband angry at her attacker than fearful over her.

Though she knew she had no one to blame but herself for that.

Over the next several minutes, Rejna was visited by the rest of her extended family. Larkspur and Dwalin, Fíli and Melindë, the three wolves... They all came—the hobbit, dwarves, and Dúnadan speaking to her briefly and expressing their joy that she would recover. Bahûna hopped up on the bed and crawled on her belly toward the head until Rejna could reach over to scratch her behind the ears. It was then that she was told of the drama that had surrounded her discovery, and how Peré had alerted her mistress—a kinswoman to Mahal himself—who then used her extraordinary abilities to bring Thorin back to Dwarrowvale in mere moments.

Rejna knew she must meet this individual, and asked that she be shown in. She was tall and fair and bore the same pointed ears as the elves, but in her manner there was something that reminded the princess of Yavanna. She was unable, for a moment, to express in words the depth of her gratitude that she had been so willing to expend her power just so that Thorin would not have to agonize over her. Ranárë had smiled and said she could read her thoughts and her heart, and assured her that no thanks were necessary.

At this point, Fíli ventured to ask after his mother. Wanting to know herself how her sister-by-marriage fared, Rejna encouraged Thorin to speak of her. He assured his nephew that Dís was doing remarkably well and had surprised even Elrond with the speed of her recovery. He informed him of Kíli's request that one of the Great Eagles might be persuaded to carry them down from Rivendell in just a few days, but if not they would not arrive for another four weeks, at the earliest. Fíli said he hoped for good news, as knowing his mother was alive had made him very eager to see her again. It was then that a yawning Melindë—though she tried to hide it—prompted him to say he would be taking his tired wife home.

When she protested he good-naturedly threatened to pick her up and carry her, to which Melindë replied if he did she would screech in his ear until he put her down. They walked out laughing, hand in hand, and Rejna could not help but smile at their antics. It was uplifting to see them tease each other. Larkspur was the one to suggest to her own husband they go on home, to which Dwalin agreed citing fear Dwalar would wake, and intimated that Balin really had no clue what to do with a baby.

Thorin reminded him that his brother had once changed his nappies, at which the warrior dwarf had growled and promptly escorted his chuckling wife out the door, followed by Thafar and Asrân. Rejna's father then said he would head back to his own chambers, and as the declaration was followed by a coughing fit, Danug readily agreed and walked with his king out into the hall. Irma said she would see to setting Ranárë up in a guest room so that she could get her own rest, and the two quietly departed.

"At last, we are alone," Thorin said softly.

"Alone with Bahûna," Rejna said with a smile.

Her husband looked to the bed's other occupant, who lifted her head and wooed softly. "Yes, you and I and our wolf child," Thorin agreed.

"He didn't know, Thorin."

His brilliant blue eyes found hers and he frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

She reached for his hand. "I thought it best to wait until we were alone to tell you… While I was unconscious I had a dream of standing on the grand balcony. As soon as I had the thought that it felt like the time the Lady Yavanna spoke to me, there suddenly appeared beside me a male so magnificent, I knew in a moment he was our Maker. He looked down at me with a hint of a smile, but at the same time I sensed sadness about him. Mahal then looked again over the courtyard, and said to me, 'Thorin is angry with me, but on my honor, I knew nothing of what happened to Dís. When she did not appear in the halls of my brother as we expected her to, Mandos went in search of her in the nether-realm. When it became clear to him she was not there either, he returned to Valinor to give us the news—myself and her kin—and a great time passed in which we despaired over her fate. It was only recently that I heard her spirit cry out to me, and I gave her what hope I could.'

"He looked down to me then and said, 'Tell Thorin to recall what I said to him of the ripples—he will know what I mean.' The Maker then bent to touch his brow to mine, and then I woke up."

Rejna gave his hand a squeeze. "Thorin, what did Mahal mean about ripples?"

The sigh he loosed was ragged. Thorin lifted a hand and drew it over his face before he replied, saying, "On the night we believed Dís to have died, the Maker spoke to me. He said that the resurrection of the Defiler had altered the fates of many, creating a ripple effect the outcome of which not even the Valar could predict."

He dropped his head down for a moment, then lifted it again. "He was right, I have been angry. I thought he knew the truth and could not fathom a reason for his not telling us what had happened to my sister. And when I heard you had come to harm, I thought it was his punishment for breaking faith with him. I begged the Maker not to take you and our boy away from me."

"Oh, Thorin… I will forever regret being the cause of such heartache. Had I not been so sodding foolish—"

Her words were halted when he touched a finger to her lips. "Let us speak no more of it tonight," he said, then rose and moved around to the other side of the bed. As though she understood his intent, Bahûna yipped softly and rose, hopped down from the bed, and trotted out into the sitting room. Thorin then lifted the covers and climbed in beside Rejna, carefully positioning himself by her side. Rejna lifted her head and gave him back his pillow, and then as gently as she could, rolled onto her side so that she could lay her head upon his shoulder.

Thorin wrapped his arms around her. "Go to sleep, _Amrâlimê_."

"I can't. Believe me, I'm tired enough, but Irma said I should stay awake a while, to be sure there are no more severe injuries to my head than they could detect."

At her words he gave her a light squeeze. "Then what shall we talk about, that you might stay awake?"

Rejna considered it a moment, then said, "How about we discuss names for our son?"

Her husband chuckled. "We have already discussed the issue," he said.

She gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Hardly. If I recall, we argued over whether to name him after one of my kin or one of yours."

"Rejna, there are a great number of dwarrow in my family, whose names our son would be proud to bear."

"As there are in mine!" she countered.

Thorin groaned. "At this rate, our son will be born without a name."

"Not my fault, you stubborn old goat."

"Really? You're suddenly going to pull the age card on me? I'm not stubborn just because I'm old, you know."

Rejna fought to contain the laughter bubbling in her chest. "Oh, of course not. You've simply gotten more stubborn the older you've grown."

He growled low in his throat, reminding her of the wolves. "Now you sound like my sister."

"Speaking of, I cannot wait to meet her."

"She is no less eager to meet you," Thorin replied. "As well as Melindë—she is quite excited at the prospect of finally becoming a grandmother."

"Finally? Fíli's not even ninety! Most dwarves his age aren't even married, let alone fathering children. Wasn't she about my age when she married?"

"She was younger, about ninety-eight. Fíli was born the next year."

Rejna laughed. "You see? She was older than he is, even factoring in how old he would be had you all not missed a few years. I don't understand why she's so eager to be a grandmother—especially considering she's had a third child who is only a few months old."

"I think the reason Dís has been so adamant that her sons start families is because she greatly misses those of our kin we have lost," Thorin said. "Our mother did not long survive the beginning of our exile in Dunland, our brother was not even fifty when he died at Azanulbizar shortly after our grandfather was slain by Azog, and we lost our father some years after that. "

"She feared losing her sons before they knew what family really means," Rejna said.

Thorin nodded. "And for five years her sons _were_ lost to her. She has forgiven me, but it will be some time still, I think, before I fully forgive myself."

"Likewise I shall long hail myself as the worst _lalkhûna_ ," said Rejna. "I mean really—what kind of soldier am I to go alone, armed with only a dagger, into a tunnel few are even supposed to know exists because I happened to hear a strange noise?"

Thorin kissed her brow. "Let us speak no more of guilt," he suggested. "We do, after all, need to choose a name for our son."

His wife laughed. "Indeed we do. It must be a good, strong name, one worthy of a dwarf who is descended of the line of Durin and Tors..."

It was some hours later, as dawn's early light crept over the windowsill, that Irma came to check on the princess, and after a careful examination declared she could at last take her rest. An exhausted Rejna thanked her physician profusely and after kissing her husband fell right to sleep. Thorin thanked Irma as well, and as soon as she had departed, fell asleep with Rejna held securely in his arms.

It was near midday when he woke again to the sound of knocking. Thorin growled softly, and after looking to make sure his beloved remained asleep, he rose to see who was at the door. Fíli and Melindë stood there with his and Rejna's guards, along with Ranárë.

"Come in," he bid them, then stepped aside so they could move into his chambers. Dwalin came in behind the guests and shut the door.

"I am come with news, Your Highness," said Ranárë.

"Oh?" Thorin countered.

She nodded. "Aye. I have had communication from Lord Elrond. He says that Meneldor will bring your kin to you in a few days' time."

"I cannot wait until Mother is here," said Fíli. "It's been near six years since I saw her last. Thinking her gone was so hard to accept, and now to know she is but a few hundred miles away? I'm so eager to be reunited, to bring her as much peace as her presence will bring me."

"I know for a fact your _amad_ is just as eager to see you. She was quite overjoyed to learn you had not only married, but are soon to give her a grandchild."

"And this after she's herself borne a third bairn," Fíli quipped. "Hard to imagine still, my having a little sister. I didn't think dams _amad_ 's age could even conceive."

"Speakin' o' babies, how is the princess?" Melindë asked.

Thorin smiled as his niece was helped down onto a chair by her husband. "Sleeping peacefully at the moment."

Fíli looked to him. "And the little one?"

A sigh escaped him then. "Thus far he lives, _irak'dashat_ ," he replied as he dropped his weary behind onto the end of the sofa.

"His heartbeat is much stronger," said Ranárë with a soft smile.

"You can hear it from out here, with the bedroom door closed?" Dwalin queried.

The lady nodded. "Aye, Master Dwarf. The little prince feels relief that his mother now rests. He was worried about her."

Thorin looked up then. "He has thoughts and feelings already?"

Ranárë inclined her head again. "His spirit speaks," she said, "in a primal language only a Vala or Eru himself could understand. It is certainly not so clear and concise as say, your own, but I hear him. His senses are primitive, and he certainly still has much development ahead of him, but he is already growing aware of his surroundings."

A smile split his countenance as Thorin tipped his head back, his eyes closed with relief. It brought him joy to hear that even at this stage, there was love for his mother in his child's heart.

"There is love for his father also, Your Highness. He senses you when you are near to your wife, and is most familiar with her and with you."

Thorin's eyes snapped open and he looked at the elfin female who stood serenely by the fireplace. Their gazes held for a moment and then he smiled wider.

He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly; at the same time his stomach growled embarrassingly loudly, which prompted Melindë to ask, "When did ye eat last?"

He shook his head. "Dinner last evening—in Rivendell."

"Fee, help me up."

His nephew immediately moved to do as Melindë asked. Thorin frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going ta go and fix ye some food, is what," said the Dúnadan.

Thorin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Do not concern yourself, I'll get something later."

"You'll eat what I give ye ta eat, Uncle, and I'll not hear not hear another word about it," said Melindë as she wagged her finger at him, then waddled off toward the kitchen.

Thorin looked to Fíli. "She called me 'Uncle.'"

His nephew grinned. "Aye, she did."

"She's never done that before."

"Mel loves you, Thorin," Fíli told him. "She's growing more and more comfortable with the idea that she's a part of a family again as time passes. I see it more every day in how relaxed she is around you and Dwalin and even Kíli."

Thorin and Dwalin snorted in unison. "That the lass is relaxed around Kíli concerns me," Dwalin quipped.

Fíli laughed. "I wouldn't worry about my Mel—she's already got Kee figured out."

"Why is my niece making food for me?" Thorin asked. "Why is that not being tended to by Léof or Telka?"

Bahûna, who had until that moment been laying peacefully by Ranárë's feet, lifted her head and growled low in her throat.

"What the devil is that about?" Dwalin wondered.

The Maia-Vala crouched before the wolf, her head tilted as she listened to the rise and fall of the sound of the animal's continued vocal emissions. A moment later she looked over to Thorin, and he noted a look of concern in her eyes.

"Bahûna says Telka is not to be trusted," she said. "The maid was with the bad one when she and the princess came home last night."

"What?!" Thorin shouted as he stood suddenly. "That wretch was here in my chambers?!"

Bahûna barked and seemed to nod her head—he did not need Ranárë to translate that. He looked down at his black-furred friend and asked her, "Did you hear what they spoke of?"

The wolf snapped off a series of yips and growls, which Elrond's daughter-in-law repeated as, "No, I did not hear their words. But he was here, his hands holding the maid by the arms. Telka seemed worried, maybe scared. But I still don't trust her with my lady."

"There could be an explanation, Uncle," Fíli said.

"Aye—could be the _dashatu laszûna_ was threatening her," added Dwalin.

Thorin turned to him. "Get Árni and Dag in here."

His cousin nodded and walked swiftly to the door, which he opened so that Rejna's guards could enter. They both bowed their heads as Dwalin closed it behind them.

"First, tell me why neither my valet nor the princess' maid have visited our chambers today," Thorin began.

"His Majesty gave orders, Your Highness," Árni answered. "The two of you were not to be disturbed by anyone but family or Healer Irma."

"An exception was made for our guest," added Dag as he gestured toward Ranárë. "Especially as she said she'd had some sort of magical communication about Captain Kíli and his _amad_."

Thorin nodded his head. "Thank you for that," he said, "as Bahûna has communicated something further about what happened last night. She not only smelled Hagen in the escape tunnel, she saw him here."

"What?!" Árni roared, nearly as loud as Thorin had moments ago.

Melindë poked her head out of the kitchen. "Oi, you lot keep yer voices down, or ye'll wake the princess!"

Thorin offered a nod. "Forgive us, _Iraknâtha_."

The frown she shot at him before she stepped back into the kitchen caused Fíli to snort as he tried vainly to keep from laughing out loud. Thorin scowled, then turned his attention back to Rejna's guards. "Until such time as we know the full extent of what transpired, Telka is not to be alone with Princess Rejna, is that understood?"

Árni and Dag shared a look, but both nodded. "Of course, Your Highness, but… may I ask why?" queried the former.

"Bahûna saw Hagen in Telka's presence. She could be in league with him—she might have been the one to tell him where the tunnel exit was so he could get inside."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Dag countered. "Telka has been Rejna's personal maid for decades."

"Sadly, Master Dwarf," said Ranárë, "that does not mean she is not a traitor."


	78. Chapter 78

**I'm alive! Ha ha, in all seriousness... The year thus far has not gone very well for me. There is so much going on in my real life that I just haven't had any motivation to write. It's as disappointing to me as it is to you all, if not more so. I keep saying it over and over, but I am truly sorry for the delays. I can only say that I am doing the best I can, and that I am NEVER abandoning this story. There is still too much story for me to tell to walk away from it. So while there may be some large gaps between postings, you can be sure that I will be back.**

 **Review shout-outs for those who left a few words about chapter 77: MissCallaLily, Celebrisilweth, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Rohirrim Girl 2187, Sparky She-Demon, Robinbird79, AmandaBaker852, LoveMeSomeFili, readpink, Guest 1, JardainaH, Readergirl4985, Adaven, Adoniss, Guest 2. You all are awesome, and kept me reminded that there is still a great story to be told. Thank you also to those folks who are following along in silence, and who over the last few months clicked on the follow and favorite links.**

 **And now, Rejna and the gang confront a traitor in their midst...**

* * *

 **78\. Broken Promises**

* * *

When the crack of her head against the rock wall of the tunnel knocked her out, Rejna at first knew nothing.

As her body dealt with the pain, she came closer to consciousness and dreamed of the fall over and over again, a part of her mind stuck on just where she had smelled the scent she'd recognized seconds before a pair of hands grabbed onto her shoulders. Then she felt nothing at all but peace, and found herself on the grand balcony with her Maker.

After waking and recounting the attack to her kin, she'd lain awake with Thorin for hours, snuggling with her husband as they talked of the baby. They were no closer to choosing a name for their son than before, but she felt certain they would agree before their child was born.

Or so she hoped.

After she had been cleared by Irma to go back to sleep, she had felt peace and contentment. It did not last, however, and her dreams turned to nightmares in which she miscarried her son and Thorin was killed in combat trying to avenge their loss. Eventually, unable to bear the horrific images any longer, she forced herself to wake, and came to consciousness with a soft cry. Reaching over to her husband's side of the bed, she found it cool and empty.

"Thorin?" she called out.

Moments later he was coming through the double doors, followed by Bahûna. " _Amrâlimê_ , are you all right?" Thorin asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. Bahûna hopped up on the bed and crawled up to nose her head under Rejna's free hand.

"I am better now that you are with me," she replied to her husband's query. "I was having very unpleasant dreams."

She gave the wolf the ear scratches she wanted, then moved her hand to the small mound of her belly. "I dreamed we lost him, and then I lost you to the madness of revenge."

"I beg you, do not fear—for either of us," Thorin replied. "Ranárë has said that his heartbeat is strong and steady. His spirit has told her that he is already becoming aware of us, and that his feelings for us are also strong."

Rejna felt her eyes widen. "How can she tell? He's so small I've not even felt him move yet."

Her husband smiled. "Apparently our Maker's kinswoman has the ability to 'hear' his spirit."

"And he is doing well?"

Thorin nodded. "So far, all is well."

The princess sighed deeply with relief. "Thank Mahal. I would go mad to lose him, or you."

"Speaking of that, even if the worst did happen, you would have no reason to fear for me," Thorin said then. "I would seek my revenge but I would not be the one to suffer the fate of death, you can be certain of that."

Rejna stared at him, and found herself strangely comforted by the certainty she found in his gaze. Her bladder then made her aware that it was once again full, and so she asked him to help her into the wash room. When her personal business was done, Thorin helped her to dress, and took the time to dress properly himself. As he then carried her out to join their visitors, Melindë was placing food on the table by the window, and so Thorin took her there so that she could join him.

As they began to eat, there was another knock at the door. Dwalin opened it to Larkspur, Balin, and the male wolves. Dwalar was tucked into a sling around his mother's neck.

"Madam, may I see your infant?" Ranárë asked as Thafar and Asrân yipped and greeted their sister.

The hobbit smiled. "Certainly," she said. "I believe you had a child yourself recently, did you not?"

Ranárë smiled as she carefully took the weeks-old infant into her hands. "My daughter was born a little more than a year ago now." She looked down into the sleeping face of the baby boy she held. "This one is special—he is the first of his kind, as I am."

She looked to Dwalin and Larkspur. "Your son has a very strong spirit. He will grow to be a noble warrior."

"You can see the future?" Dwalin asked.

"Nay, Lord Commander," Ranárë replied. "However, I can sense certain things about the spirit of a person, and your son's is much like yours. I feel that he will be kind and generous, as is his mother, but fiercely protective of those he loves and more than willing to defend them."

"Just like his father," said Larkspur, looking up at Dwalin with a smile.

Ranárë then handed Dwalar back to his mother, before offering to take the wolves outside for some exercise. "I rather enjoy speaking with them," she said. Larkspur made sure to command all three to obey their guardian before the four departed.

"All right," piped up Rejna then. "What's happened?"

She was not blind to the look exchanged between her husband, Fíli, and Dwalin. "It's nothing, Rejna. I will handle it," said Thorin.

Rejna snorted. "My body may be somewhat weak from the accident, my love, but my mind most certainly is not. I knew the moment we came into this room that something happened. If you do not tell me, I will order Árni or Dag to do so."

"I could then immediately order them not to obey your command," he countered.

"You could certainly try, but just who do you think they will listen to?" she parried. "Let me put it to you this way, husband: If you gave Dwalin a command and I countered it, whose missive is he likely to follow?"

Her eyebrow was arched in a challenging manner, and though her husband feigned a scowl, she noted a twinkle in his eyes as he conceded with a gruffly spoken, "Bloody loyalty."

This set the others to laughing, until Thorin drew a deep breath. He told her of Bahûna's reveal that Hagen had been in their chambers the night before, which she confirmed, but the suspicion that Telka was a willing participant in his schemes she could not agree to.

"Thorin, I have known that dam for more than half my life—she just isn't the type!" she protested. "You didn't see her after Hagen had gone. She was genuinely intimidated by him; I'd even say she was frightened."

"But who was she really frightened of, my Lady?" Fíli asked. "Hagen or you?"

Árni growled softly. "I'm afraid he has a point, Your Highness. For all we know, she's been helping him all along and the only reason she appeared to be afraid is because you'd caught them together."

"Think about it, Rejna... If your maid is truly so loyal to you, why did she let him in?" Thorin queried softly.

"Because she is only a maid and he is a Lord on the council," Rejna replied, citing Telka's own argument. Though now, in the light of day and after all that had happened…

…it did seem a very weak excuse.

Drawing a breath, the princess loosed it in a resigned sigh. "I do not want to believe it of her," she said, "but you have all made a valid point. As soon as I finish my breakfast, I want Telka brought here for questioning."

Thorin shook his head. "Nay, do not concern yourself. Just rest and nurture our son. I will handle Telka."

"She is my maid, Thorin. If her loyalty to me is to be questioned, I will be the one doing the asking."

To her relief, he did not argue further. By the time she had finished eating and sent Árni and Dag for her maid, Ranárë had returned with the wolves. Shortly afterward, Telka was escorted into their chambers. Rejna remained in her chair at the dining table with her back to the window, the golden light of the afternoon sun appearing to glow around her. Bahûna sat beside her on the left, and Thorin was on his feet, standing at her right shoulder. Melindë and Larkspur sat together with Dwalar at on the sofa, Thafar and Asrán by their feet. Dwalin, Balin, and Fíli were off to Thorin's right and Ranárë stood behind Bahûna.

Telka looked nervous as she entered, but Rejna reasoned that it could easily be due to being escorted under guard. Still, she smiled as she came in but the expression fell and she stopped about halfway across the sitting room—Bahûna's low growl was likely the reason for that.

"My Princess—how pleased I am to see you are well!" she said. "When I heard you'd been injured I wanted to come to you immediately, but the king's steward had come to say you and His Highness were to be left in peace today."

Rejna studied her for a moment while she considered how to reply. The other dam's posture and expression indicated concern, but if what her family suspected was true, then she was a very good actress.

"Why did you let Lord Hagen into these chambers last night?" she asked at last.

"I told you why, Princess," Telka replied. "Lord Hagen bade me admit him to speak to you. He said I was required to obey his commands because I am but a maid and he a lord of the kingdom, and that it would be wise for me to do as my betters instruct me."

"You have long known, I am sure, of the enmity between myself and Lord Hagen," Rejna pointed out. "That alone ought have been reason enough for you to deny him entrance to these rooms, no matter what he said to you. Did Hagen go anywhere other than this parlor?"

Telka frowned. "No, he had not the time before you arrived to go anywhere else."

"So he never set foot in my bedchamber? Never went near the bookcase that leads to the escape tunnel?"

"No, my Lady, I assure you he did not."

"Did he ask you to tell him where it was? The entrance or the exit?"

Telka shook her head. "He demanded to know where you were. He did not believe me when I told him I did not know, and that is when he grabbed me. Then you came home."

Ranárë leaned down and whispered in Rejna's ear—the princess was disturbed by what she heard.

"Who is Lita to you?" she asked at the sorceress' suggestion.

"Lita? I do not know a dam named Lita," the maid replied.

"I never said she was a dam. What are you hiding, Telka?"

Telka laughed nervously. "I am hiding nothing, Princess. I only said I knew no such dam because I assumed you referred to one. I do not know any daughter of Man by that name, either."

"She lies," said Ranárë.

The older dam blinked. "I beg your pardon? I would not lie to my princess."

"But you have," Ranárë pressed, her tone inciting louder growls from Bahûna. Across the room, her brothers stood to their feet.

"You know who Lita is," continued Ranárë. "When Her Highness spoke the name, there was a flash of recognition in your mind, though you pushed the thought aside before I could discern more."

Telka snorted. "Now who lies? Your Highness, tell me you do not believe this woman! I swear to you I do not know who this Lita is!"

"She _is_ lying, Princess. Her spirit is darkened with alarm and her mind is stressed with the effort she is expending to not think of who Lita is," Ranárë said then.

"Tell us who Lita is, Telka," Thorin ordered the now-trembling maid. "What does she have to do with any of this? What is her connection to you? I already know she is the bastard daughter of Lord Hagen."

Rejna only just stifled a gasp—Thorin hadn't told her that. But then, he hadn't talked much of precisely what had happened to his sister, only that Dís was recovering from her ordeal much faster than Lord Elrond had expected.

 _No doubt it is due to her stubborn Durin nature_ , the princes thought with amusement. _If so, she is much like her brother in that way_.

Thorin was stepping around their dining table then, saying to Telka, "I met Lita in Rivendell. She confessed to me that Lord Hagen was her father, that she had gone north to Erebor on his orders for the express purpose of poisoning Princess Dís to prevent her possibly conceiving another heir of Durin. Eighteen months ago she was given orders to kill the princess, but found she had not the heart to do it. Wanting no more part of her sire's schemes, she instead faked the death of Dís and carried her in secret out of the mountain and into Dale, where she nursed her back to health. But before Dís could pass judgment on Lita for her actions, they were both of them kidnapped by slavers and sold to an Easterling in Rhûn."

At this Telka gasped; to her right, Rejna heard Fíli cursing angrily under his breath.

"While in the forced employ of their master, Lita's failure was completed when Princess Dís conceived a child with him," Thorin continued. "Months later, they journeyed with their master into Dunland, where the majority of their party was slain when he refused to sell Dís and Lita. The two of them were forced to work for a new master, who would starve and abuse them when they did not perform as he demanded. Lita, I understand, was forced to bed any male her master bade her to serve. She and Dís and a number of other dwarrow and sons and daughters of Men were rescued from their terrible fate by Rangers of the North."

Rejna watched as her husband stepped closer to her maid, and though she could not see his face, he stood just enough to the side that Telka's was plain to see as he said, "All of this Lita confessed to me before she consumed an over-large dose of the very poison she used to drive Princess Dís mad, that she would be able to meet our Maker with a clear conscience."

In increments Telka's mask of indifference was replaced with an expression of anguish. Tears spilled from her eyes as Ranárë said in a soft tone, "I see now their relationship—Telka is Lita's mother."

Rejna felt stunned. All this time she had known Telka, and not once had the other dam spoken of having borne a child. How could she not know? How could Telka have kept something like that a secret all these years?

And Hagen had been her lover. That alone of what she had learned did not really surprise her. He might well have been a blood purist, but Hagen was also known for openly admiring dams who were not his wife, and rumors had been rampant for years that he had been dallying with the maids at Eastfell Hall.

In fact, Telka had once worked there. Rejna had agreed to take her on at the palace shortly after she had joined the army on the recommendation of Lady Greti, who had said she was an excellent worker. For over twenty years she had indeed been fastidious in her duties around the castle—never late to begin work, never was a task left incomplete. It was her work ethic and her quiet, contemplative nature that had led to Rejna choosing her over all the other female maids to tend her when she was in residence after her Age of Majority celebration.

Telka cried quietly with a hand raised to her lips for a moment or two, then she shocked everyone by lunging at Thorin while she screamed, " _This is all your fault!_ "

Thorin would have caught her before she could strike him, but had no time to react before Bahûna leapt at Telka, taking her right forearm tight between her teeth as the momentum of the jump took them both to the floor. Rejna and Melindë both cried out with alarm and Larkspur yelled for Thafar and Asrân to remain beside her. They listened, but began barking and growling loudly.

"Get this beast off of me!" Telka screamed as she tried vainly to pull her now-bleeding arm free of the wolf's jaws.

"Bahûna, let her go!" Thorin commanded.

The she-wolf growled and shook her head, the action causing cries of pain from Telka.

"Betrayed," supplied Ranárë. "Maid betrayed Mistress. Betrayed Master—tried to hurt Master."

Rejna watched, alarm shooting through her, as Thorin took a step closer and slowly knelt to put one knee to the floor. "Bahûna," he said, his voice low and calm. "Thank you for protecting me. For protecting Rejna. Yes, this dam betrayed us, but we will deal with it. I promise you, she will pay for her crime, but you must let her go now. Let us serve justice upon her according to the law."

Bahûna's bright blue eyes stared for a long, tense moment, before she growled sharply and spit Telka's arm out. The maid cradled her injured limb to her chest as the wolf walked away from her and returned to Rejna's side; the princess reached over and carefully laid a hand to the wolf's head, stroking her softly while Thorin stood and offered a hand to Telka.

"Don't touch me!" the damn spat angrily as she rolled away from him and raised herself to her feet. "None of this would have happened if it weren't for you!"

Thorin snorted. "I beg your pardon? Lita was sent north more than five years ago, long before I came to Dwarrrowvale. I had nothing to do with that, and her ending was of her own choosing."

"'Twas a better fate than she deserved," muttered Fíli.

Telka stared daggers at him, and had opened her mouth to say something when Rejna asked, "How come you never told me you had a daughter, Telka? More than sixty years you have worked in the palace, half of that time serving me personally, and never once did you speak of her."

"What good would have come of it?" Telka snapped in return. "She was a child conceived out of wedlock, and with a married dwarrow besides. I had enough shame to live with, I didn't need any more heaped on me by you."

Rejna shook her head. "I would not have shamed you, Telka. Surely you know me better than that by now."

"No, but you'd have desired to know who sired her and I could not tell you. I could not speak of it to anyone, as who would have believed me?" the maid retorted. "A lowborn female accuses high-ranking dwarf male of fathering her child? How typical and tawdry such a tale would be. Considering who he is, what good would it have done to name him Lita's father? He would have denied it, and saved face by labeling me a gold-digging liar while I was shamed for even speaking up, with no proof to support my claim."

She then turned cold, hateful eyes to Thorin. "She would not have taken her life if not for you. I know not why you went to Rivendell and I don't bloody care, but no doubt learning you were Prince of Dwarrowvale sent her over the edge. She killed herself when she could have returned to Erebor and wed Dáin's heir! If not for you, Halvar would have been the one to marry Rejna, and once he was made Crown Prince, Hagen was going to divorce Greti and marry me!"

Rejna shook her head. "Is that the real reason you never spoke of your daughter—because of that arrogant bastard's worthless promises? All these years he had you believing lies, Telka. I know him, and the very same reasons you just claimed you could not name him the father of your child are the very reasons he would not have divorced his wife: he's too full of pride in himself to allow the shame."

Telka shook her head. "No, he promised! More than that, he swore a blood oath that he would acknowledge Lita as his daughter and convince Dáin that a match between her and his son was right, and he swore that he would divorce Greti and marry me for all the years I had raised her alone. He swore on his blood and the blood of his fathers that he would reward us both for the years of sacrifice and lack of recognition on his part. We would be more than mere servants in the eyes of society, we would be respected nobility."

 _The poor, foolish dam_ , Rejna thought. _To be so taken in by such a lowlife, worthless orc scum like Hagen_ …

"I am afraid, madam, that the princess is right," Thorin said. "One such as Hagen would make whatever promises were necessary in order to ensure your cooperation in his plan—even a blood oath. Deep down even you must know that he never had any intention of keeping them. You and your daughter were but a means to an end, as his plan was all about securing power for himself. "

Telka swung her head back and forth, tears spilling from her eyes as she said, "He promised me. He swore a blood oath—I watched him cut his hand with my own eyes."

"Even a blood oath is a promise that can be broken," said Thorin. "Hagen is a dwarf wholly without honor."

"No, he promised. _He promised!_ " Telka screamed.

With a sigh, Thorin gestured to Árni and Dag. "Take her to the Hall of Medicine and then to the cells."

Telka whimpered as the two guards each took an arm in hand, and muttered over and over "He promised me" as they led her from the suite.

Thorin then turned around and looked at Fíli. "I am sorry, _Irakdashat_ , that you had to learn all of what your mother suffered this way. I had every intention of telling you, but I was…distracted upon my arrival."

Rejna looked over as Fíli nodded. "I understand, Uncle," he said. "But something tells me you've only glossed it over. I want to hear everything now."

Thorin nodded his agreement, and for the next few minutes he recounted all that Lita had told him before she died, her story having been confirmed by Dís after she awoke. Fíli, who had been joined by his wife, Melindë taking him into her arms to comfort him, nodded again when Thorin had finished.

"I am angry," he said. "I am outraged that my mother, a daughter of Durin, was made to suffer so cruelly. That she was forced to break her vows to my father's memory and lay with another. But I find I am not angry with Lita. I hate what she did, but I do not hate her."

"How can ye hate any poor child what just wanted ta be loved by her father?" Melindë observed. "She were foolish and misguided, ta be sure, but she musta been plenty desperate ta be acknowledged by her _ada_ ta do something so wretched as poisoning yer _nana_ to make her appear mad."

"What I want to know is who the hell is behind it all?" Dwalin said with a growl.

"Aye," spoke up Balin. "It seems that though Lord Hagen was giving orders to his offspring and his lover, someone else was giving orders to him."

Thorin looked around at everyone then, his eyes falling at last on Rejna. She watched him as he studied her, then drew a breath and announced, "There is something else."

"Else?" queried Fíli. "What else?"

His eyes still on her, Rejna listened as Thorin explained his belief that—based on his infrequent conversations with Mahal—Hagen had wanted Halvar on the throne of Dwarrowvale so that he could control the mithril coming from the mine below the capital. The princess found herself nodding in agreement.

"It does make sense," she said slowly. "We have gems and gold and silver in a number of the other mountains, but the capital mine is the only one in which mithril was found. It is perhaps our greatest commodity."

She looked around herself then, gauging the thoughts of everyone there before she said, "I cannot help wondering, though, as Balin does: Who is behind it all? Like Lita and Telka, it seems that Hagen is but an instrument, a pawn being manipulated by some other master. But who? And for Mahal's sake, _why_?"

"Could it be the Brotherhood?" suggested Larkspur. "You've been worried about them for months, what with the unrest that's been going on."

Thorin nodded. "It is a possibility," he said. "But to what end? If indeed it is the Brotherhood using Hagen to gain control of the kingdom, what is their purpose?"

"Perhaps those buggers have decided that they want a home base of sorts," Dwalin offered. "Could be they've decided to take over Dwarrowvale and use the mithril to better arm themselves in conflict against those who oppose them and their ideals."

Thorin snorted. "Wretched blood purists. They would have us ignore all other life at risk of our own. Dwarf kind is on the brink of extinction, given how few females are born—we need new blood if we are going to survive."

"Very wisely spoken, cousin," Balin said.

"No doubt much to your surprise, given my own predisposition towards dwarrow superiority," Thorin replied. "But while much of me is still the same as the dwarf I once was, much is also changed. Almost from the beginning of my second life I have been forced to face many challenges to notions I once held in firm belief, and blood purity is one of them. Given that my nephew and your brother have both found their mates outside of our kind, not even I can deny that the Maker's plans for all dwarrow are changing."

Rejna sighed then. "What are we going to do, Thorin?" she asked. "About Hagen? About Telka—she must have been the one to tell him about the escape tunnel, if indeed it was he who attacked me. Even if he forced her to under threat, she still told him."

"If I may, Princess…" said Balin, who stepped up to stand next to Thorin. "I suggest we wait another day or two for the arrival of Dís."

"Why is that?"

Thorin began to nod, a grin spreading slowly. "Balin is right. My sister was one of my chief advisors in the Blue Mountains—no doubt she will have some clever ideas for handling Hagen."

"You do realize, don't you, that whatever plans she might suggest will include you coming forward with who you are?" Dwalin said.

"Aye," Thorin replied. "I do not doubt you are right, and I feel it in my bones that the day is coming when I must do so. For now, however, I will wait and see, and I will take care of my wife and son."

Though little was truly decided, and more than a little revealed, Rejna found that she could not argue with his plan. Though she knew not being allowed to walk or even stand would get quickly tiresome, she looked forward to being taken care of by her husband for the next couple of days.

Thorin catering to her every whim? Who could argue with that?


	79. Chapter 79

**I am still here. This story still lives. I had to fight with my Muse, but I have _finally_ gotten another chapter finished. My eternal thanks to each and every person who is still as in love with this story as I am. I hope you are as excited by the new chapter notification as I am to deliver it to you.**

* * *

 **79\. Reunion**

* * *

Flying, Dís thought—and not for the first time—was for the birds.

Ironic, given she sat atop one with Kíli holding her from behind, Zari snuggled tightly against her with a sling. Below them, settled into the curled claws of the Great Eagle, was Glorfindel. Neither her son nor the elf seemed to have any trouble with careening through the air miles above the ground, and each time they had taken flight, her daughter slept through most of it completely unaware.

She envied her that. Seeing the ground from this high up made Dís dizzy and nauseous, and she could not wait to be on the ground once again. The next time would be the last time, thank Mahal—in mere minutes they would be in Dwarrowvale.

The dam could not wait to see her brother's new kingdom. Kíli had told her a great deal about it on their journey south, describing the sight of the mountains and the valley within the semi-circle as an "impressive sight to behold". He told her about the castle and the carving of Rejna's ancestor on the central mountain, and about the hobbit holes of Dwalin and Fíli. She had heard of hobbits, of course, but in all their years in the Blue Mountains she had never met one, let alone seen what their homes looked like. She looked forward to seeing the wonder of the smials, as well as meeting the "feisty" lady that the Maker had determined was perfect for her grizzly bear of a cousin.

"Look, _Amad_ ," said Kíli. " _Khazâd-dubanu_."

He was already aware that she didn't like to look down, but Dís still opened her eyes to look at where he pointed. The eagle was slowly descending over a wide valley surrounded by a ring of mountains that was open at one end, past where two rivers converged. Below her she could see houses and farms and people and animals spread across the valley, and there were boats going both up and down each river.

Though she was able to stomach the magnificent sight, Dís still firmly believed that dwarves belonged not in the air but firmly planted on the ground from which the Maker had fashioned them.

By the time Meneldor had landed, a number of people were walking out of the castle gates. Kíli hopped down effortlessly and reached up to take Zari, who had just woken, and then Glorfindel held his hands up to assist Dís to the ground. When she was steady on her feet she thanked the ancient elf, then turned her head toward the small group walking toward them. The stocky, blond-haired dwarf at the fore caught her attention right away, and she immediately turned and ran toward him.

Fíli met her halfway and they threw their arms around one another in a fierce embrace. "Mahal be praised," her son whispered in her ear.

" _Oh, my little lion, how warm my heart is to see you_ ," Dís replied in Khuzdul, tears stinging her eyes as she squeezed her firstborn to her.

They held each other for a long moment, before Fíli released her at last, touched his brow to hers, and then stepped back with a huge smile upon his face as he reached a hand out to a red-haired and very pregnant daughter of Men.

" _Amad_ , I want you to meet the most important person in my life—my wife, my One—Melindë, daughter of Morren," he introduced the lady. He then laid a hand atop her belly and added, "And in here is our daughter, Meldís."

Dís studied the girl, who stood about a head taller than Fíli, and noted that while there was a look of trepidation in her eyes, she did not lower her gaze. Taking a step forward, she held her hands out to her; Melindë reached out to take them slowly.

"Mahal be praised," said Dís with a smile. "Forever will I thank him for bringing you and Fíli together—to see my son so happy and so blessed is a mother's greatest joy."

She then reached one hand up and drew Melindë's brow to hers and told her softly in Khuzdul, " _Welcome to the House of Durin, my daughter_."

Dís felt more than heard Melindë sigh, and when they looked at one another again they both wore smiles. Then she glanced down to where her very first grandchild lay nestled inside her daughter-in-law.

"So how do you know your child will be female?"

"Well, we do nae know for sure, o' course. But I've 'ad this dream o'er and o'er o' Fíli bouncing a little girl with curly black hair and blue eyes on his knee," Melindë explained.

Fíli grinned. "So we decided to name our little girl after her own mother and mine."

"I am truly honored," Dís replied, "but what if the babe is male?"

"Would you like to know for sure?" asked Glorfindel as he and Kíli stepped up to them.

Fíli's eyes widened. "That's right, you can tell, can't you?" he said. "Glorfindel here told Thorin he and Rejna were to have a boy."

"He didn't offer to tell us," said Dwalin, a scowl on his face. "We did travel together for weeks, after all."

"Well, I didn't even tell you I suspected I was with child until after we arrived," stated the short female with brown hair who stood beside the grizzled warrior. She carried in her arms a cloth-covered bundle that was surely their son, Dís mused, a smile tilting the corners of her mouth again.

"And everyone was so taken up with securing housing and settling in it honestly did not occur to me to offer," added Glorfindel. "Not to mention that Elrohir and I stayed only a couple of days."

A chuckle sounded from the tall female with elfin features Dís recalled was kin to the Maker. "I could also tell you of your child's gender, Master Fíli, should you desire the knowledge."

He turned to her. "Well why didn't you say so?"

Ranárë smiled serenely. "You haven't asked."

Everyone in the party save Ranárë and the two infants—and Fíli—laughed, though Fee did quickly drop his mock-scowl and chuckle. Dís watched as he took his wife's hands and looked into her eyes. "Would you like to know if your dream shows you the truth, _Ibriz_?"

Melindë appeared to consider it a moment before she nodded and said, "Aye, I think I would. I shall love our child no matter if 'tis a boy or a girl, but it would be nice ta know if I've not been foolin' meself. Not ta mention we've already such a lovely name for a girl, and I fear we'd fight like Thorin an' Rejna o'er what ta call a boy."

"Why does it not surprise me that my fool-headed brother can't make up his mind?" Dís observed, which drew from everyone another laugh.

"You've no reason to fear such a stalemate, Madam Melindë. Your dreams are prophetic—the babe you carry _is_ female," Ranárë told her.

Both Fíli and Melindë grinned hugely, and both of them set their hands on the latter's stomach. "Our Meldís," said Fíli. "You will be spoiled rotten, daughter of Durin and Dúnedain."

"Speaking of daughters…" Dís turned to Kíli and took his little sister into her arms. She then turned so that Fíli could get a good look at his sister's face. "This one is mine. She is Zarlûna—my prayer answered, the hope given me by Mahal himself."

Fíli studied her a moment, then lifted his hand in a little wave. "Thorin said she is called Zari?" he asked.

Dís nodded. "Aye. Would you like to hold your _nan'ith_? She took to Kíli quite readily."

Fíli snorted softly and held his hands out. "Then I had best take her so I can start teaching her which of us is the right one to listen to."

"Oi!" cried his brother. "Don't pretend like you don't own half the blame for all the trouble we got into as dwarflings, _nadad_!"

"I only took the blame to cover up your recklessness, as any good older brother would do," said Fíli flippantly.

It was all Dís could do to choke down the sob that began to swell in her chest—she was not quick enough to dash away the tear that escaped, however, as when Kíli took her hand he gave it what she knew was meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Oh, how wonderful, how indescribably joyful, it was to bear witness to the light-hearted bickering of her sons once again.

Mahal had truly blessed her.

At that moment, Glorfindel turned to the Great Eagle and spoke to Meneldor in the Elvish language. The enormous bird dipped his head, then spread his wings and lifted off into the air.

"Where's Meneldor going?" Kíli asked.

"Home, Master Dwarf," Glorfindel replied. "I will not need him to return to Imladris. I can return there with Lady Ranárë in the same manner as she brought your uncle here if I wish, when our presence here is no longer required."

"Do you think you will be here long?" asked the hobbit lass on Dwalin's right.

Dís watched the elf and the female wizard exchange a look. "What is it?" she asked.

"I cannot say," Glorfindel told her. "Not because I wish to conceal anything, but because we are not certain. Elrond has told us only that things are in motion and that our continued presence may be required. Likely we will know when we are no longer needed."

Dís only nodded and fell into step behind Fíli as he turned around to lead their party inside. Dwalin fell into step on her right. "I am most pleased to see you again, _Iraknana_ '," he said to her. "I have given thanks to Mahal every day since we learned of you being alive."

"I am pleased to see you as well, Dwalin—and grateful that Dáin sent you along with Thorin and the boys on their journey," she replied. "I have no doubt you were of great assistance to them."

"Indeed I was, though Thorin complained many times that he was in no need of protection," Dwalin grumbled, though his voice was softer when next he spoke. "By now I'm sure you've guessed that this most beautiful of flowers is my lady wife, Larkspur Took of the Shire. In her arms is our own blessing from the Maker, our son Dwalar."

Dís looked around him as they ascended the steps into the palace. "It is a great pleasure to meet the only female ever to tame this beast."

"Oi, I'm right here!"

Larkspur laughed. "Such a grizzly bear, isn't he?"

Dís echoed the hobbit's laughter. "He always was."

Dwalin growled, which only made them laugh harder. "Truthfully, he's not quite tame as yet. I'm still working on it," said his wife.

"I will thank you both kindly to stop discussing me like I'm some wild pony!" Dwalin ground out, though Dís knew from the way his lips twitched that he was not truly upset with them.

Fíli led them first into a massive entry hall and paused, presumably to give her time to look around. The castle was carved straight out of the mountain—or into it, rather—and it was evident that the dwarves of this community were as skilled as their northern kin. Dís looked around in appreciation at the architecture, noting where other types of stone had been inlaid to give the walls and floor color and aesthetic appeal.

"Most impressive," she murmured.

Her sons both grinned. "I'm sure the king will be gratified to hear you think so," said Kíli.

"As will Rejna, no doubt," added Larkspur.

They moved on then, climbing up stairs and walking through corridor after corridor before finally arriving at their destination. Fíli greeted the two guards at the door even as he suppressed a smirk at the muffled sound of arguing beyond the doors. The guards were also suppressing mirth even as they opened the double doors to admit them.

At that moment, the dam seated in a chair at a smallish table lobbed a plate toward Thorin's head. He ducked well in time to be missed, and the plate flew into the wall and shattered.

"Headstrong, obstinate female!" Thorin shouted at her. "Do you not understand that I am trying to take care of you?!"

"Trying to control me is more like!" the dam replied hotly.

Fíli cleared his throat, and the two snapped their heads toward the door. Dís, who now stood beside her son, could only shake her head.

"I see not much has changed, _nadad_ ," she said, turning her eyes to her brother. "You still possess the greatest propensity for pissing people off of any dwarf I know."

Thorin growled. "It is not my intention to anger her—"

"You don't even have to _try_ to do that!" muttered the female, who crossed her arms over her bosom with a huff.

"Rejna, I beseech you to stop this foolishness!" Thorin snapped. "Your own physician has ordered it that you are not to walk for a fortnight!"

"And I have told you time and again that I am perfectly capable of walking to the bloody privy on my own—it's not like it is far!"

 _Petulant, isn't she?_ Dís mused. _Not unlike a child who has not gotten her way_.

At that moment Rejna's countenance brightened. "Glorfindel! My friend, I am so glad to see you! Will you do me the greatest of favors and come heal my leg fractures? They are only minor ones, but they are such that nobody will allow me to walk even a few feet! I assure you, sir, that I am quite capable of going to use the toilet _on my own_!"

"And I assure _you_ , Princess," Thorin began in a tone of voice Dís knew all too well, one that signified he was about to move beyond irritation into true anger, "that I will not allow you to abuse the friendly relationship we share with Lord Glorfindel for the sake of your own selfish desires! Healer Irma has decreed you shall not walk, and so you shall not!"

"Now who is being headstrong and obstinate?!" Rejna retorted. "Why should I have to continue in this manner when there is someone here who can solve the problem?"

Dís wanted to shake her head again as she wondered why on Arda Mahal had chosen such a female for her brother. The princess was older than both her sons by decades yet seemed to her far less mature. Not even Kíli acted so childishly anymore.

Glorfindel stepped past her. "Forgive me, my lord Thorin, for usually I would not dare to interfere in a personal dispute between my friends, but I would not mind at all healing Princess Rejna's injuries—especially if they are so minor."

"And I appreciate your willingness, but I would have my lady wife consider that you will not always be here," said Thorin. "We do not have amongst our people any person who is so blessed as are you with the power to heal with but a touch. It is not right that we take advantage of you in such a manner just because we can and it is convenient for us. When you are gone, how will we cope with injuries? In the same manner as dwarrow have always done: without the aid of Elvish magic."

He then glanced at Rejna, then back to Glorfindel with a sigh, and threw up his hands. "But do as you will. If you wish to heal her I will not stop you."

With that he turned away from his wife and moved toward the sofa. It was then that Dís took notice of the dwarf already standing by the piece of furniture; Balin's white hair and rosy cheeks brought tears to her eyes, for it felt like many years since last she had seen him. As the elf stepped silently across the room to tend to Rejna, Balin stepped around the couch to stand before Dís, at which point he stopped and bowed deeply from the waist.

"I bid thee welcome, my Princess," he said.

When he stood straight, Dís smiled and held out her hand to him. Her cousin took it, wrapping her smaller hand in both of his own. "It is a great joy to see you again, Balin," she told him.

"And you as well," he replied, his eyes twinkling suddenly as he reached into a pocket and drew out what looked like a golden necklace. "I believe this belongs to you, cousin."

Dís opened her hand and gasped at what he laid into it, the tears in her eyes spilling over. She had not seen the locket since that fateful day nearly two centuries before, when she had dropped her favorite piece of jewelry as her mother grabbed her and ran on her father's order to flee.

"Oh, Balin," she said softly as she opened the bejeweled locket and looked for the first time since her girlhood on the tiny portrait contained within. "Where did you find it? How did you know to bring it with you?"

He related to her the story of the locket's discovery and what he had originally intended to do with it, and how he had brought it to Thorin so that he would have something that belonged to her to remember her by.

"And when we heard you were on your way back to us a few days ago, your _nadad_ declared that I should do with it as I started out to do, which is return it to its rightful owner," he concluded.

Dís glanced briefly at Thorin, who offered a small smile, and then clutching the necklace in her hand, she threw her arms around Balin and squeezed him tight. " _Ikhminruk_ _astû, Iraknadad_ ," she whispered around the emotion beginning to clog her throat.

When they parted, Balin's eyes were misty. Dís smiled at him, an expression he returned, before then lifting his eyes to the babe in Fíli's arms. "This… this is your daughter, I believe?"

Dís nodded. "Aye. The Princess Zarlûna, or she would be if circumstances were not what they are."

"Nonsense, _nan'ith_ ," said Thorin as he came closer. "The circumstances of her conception are inconsequential."

"I mean our circumstances now, brother," Dís countered. "I no longer reside in Erebor, where Daín is now king in any case."

"Daín being king in Erebor does not lessen the nobility of the blood in your veins or those of your children," said Thorin. "It does not mean you are a princess any less, that your sons are any less a prince or your daughter a princess, for you are all of you of sons and daughters of Durin."

"Thank you for that, Thorin. Truly, it lessens my worries that you accept my daughter so readily."

"Why would I not? As I said, how she came to be matters not at all. It only matters that she is here."

It was then that Rejna came over to them, walking proudly on her own two feet as though her legs had not sustained serious injury just a few days before. " _Shamâkh_ _,_ Dís _._ _Naidmî du id Khazad-dubanu_ ," she said. "I am Rejna, daughter of Helga, and One to Thorin."

 _Yes, I know who you are_ , Dís thought, then nodded. "Thank you, Princess. I am most gratified to be here, where my sons and my brother are alive and well."

"Come, make yourself comfortable," Rejna continued, turning to gesture toward the sofa. "I do hope you are not afraid of wolves, I am sure my husband would very much like for you to meet his lupine friend."

"Oi, that reminds me, where are the wolves? I've not seen Thafar for days!" cried Kíli.

"They are with Léof," said Thorin as everyone moved to take seats around the sitting room. Dís took Zari back from Fíli so he could help Melindë to sit.

Kíli looked surprised at his uncle's words. "Your valet can handle them?"

Thorin nodded. "He can when their mother has commanded them to obey him," he said. "Princess Rejna and I have been…disagreeing with one another since this morning, and they were reacting to our discord. Balin had suggested that they be taken away for a time, but none of the family wanted to go out with them as we all wished to be here for your return."

"I thought sending them out with Léof to be the best solution until such time as your aunt and uncle came to an agreement," added Larkspur.

"I think I'll go and look for them. They can't be far, and I've been missing my buddy," said Kíli before he stepped around the couch and bent to look into Zari's eyes. "Now you listen here, little sister. Whatever Fíli tells you about me, I guarantee it's all lies."

Fíli snorted. "Please. As if I would lie to our baby sister about what a reckless _lalkhûn_ you are," he said.

"Still reckless, is he? Why am I not surprised?" quipped Dís.

Kíli stood straight, his hand over his heart. "Mother, you wound me! I am not reckless—I never was!"

"Right, _dashat_. So you've never done anything impulsive in all your eighty-two years?"

Kíli cleared his throat. "Um, just seventy-eight, _amad_ —be seventy-nine in June."

Dís bit her lip. "Oh, right. The three of you missed four years here."

"Aye. The only birthday we counted our first year back was mine, since it was so close to when we left," said Fíli in a low voice, who'd been born in December. "And even then I only counted the age I'd have been that year."

"Of course, that makes sense!" replied Dís a little too brightly, hoping fervently that no one noticed how awkward she suddenly felt. "I'm sure you're all very glad not to have aged four years like the rest of us."

Kíli reached for her hand. "Hey, I would _gladly_ be four years older than I am, would gladly be the age I should be right now, if I could go back and spend those four years with you."

Fíli laid his hand atop his brother's. "As would I."

Dís drew a breath and forced a smile. "I know you would. And I thank you for it, but really, what's four years, right? We're all together again, that's what matters."

"You are absolutely right, _iraknana'_ ," said Balin in a cheerful tone. "We are all together again, and the blood of Durin remains strong, as evidenced by all the children that are born or are soon to come."

At that moment the door to the royal suite opened and Léof came in, then held it open for the three wolves. They immediately bounded over to their masters, though were soon distracted by the scents of the newcomers, especially Dís and Zari. The gray one (she understood why Kíli called him Thafar) and the white, whom Larkspur informed her was called Asrân, sniffed at them both but soon made way for their sister. Thorin gave her name as Bahûna, and all the company fell momentarily silent as the black wolf stared up at Zari with her icy blue eyes for a long moment before lifting a paw and placing it on Dís' knee, at which Zari laughed and gurgled and waved her hand. Bahûna yipped softly before licking the baby's foot and then turning to trot over to Thorin's side.

"I guess that means she approves?" Dís asked.

Her brother laughed. "That is just her way, Dís."

"Indeed, Your Highness," said Ranárë, who then looked to Dís. "Bahûna is the leader of this little pack. She was committing your scents to her memory, that she will remember who you both are. By your smell, she already knows you are family."

"Aye, and these ruddy wolves will protect you and that there wee babe with their lives, I don't doubt," added Dwalin.

Ranárë nodded. "You are correct, Lord Commander."

Dís cleared her throat. "Speaking of babies," she said, turning her attention to Thorin. "I understand that allowing her to walk is not the only thing you and your mate have been fighting over."

Thorin rolled his eyes and Rejna laughed. "It is true, we cannot seem to agree on that count. All we have concluded is that at this rate, our son will likely be born without a name."

Dís looked between them. "Why don't you just follow Dwalin's new tradition, as Fíli did, and combine parts of two names?"

Thorin glanced at Rejna. "I would not object to the idea. Rejna?"

The princess smiled up at him as she rubbed her baby bump with one hand. "Nor would I, though I fear our present disagreement over a name for him will only continue, as we butt heads over which two names to combine."

"Why not use your own names, as Dwalin and I did?" suggested Larkspur. "He is a part of both of you, after all. And as the heir of Durin, his name should be especially significant—who better, then, to be named after than his own mother and father?"

Again Thorin and Rejna glanced at each other. Dís could tell that some of the tension between them was beginning to melt away as they considered the idea.

"Rethor," said Thorin after a moment. "Our son shall be called Rethor."

Rejna nodded, a smile spreading across her face, and held out a hand to him. "Yes," she said as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "It is perfect, _amrâlumê_ _._ He shall be Rethor, Crown Prince of Dwarrowvale."

The other dam then looked to Dís. "Thank you, _nana'_. Already your presence has helped us solve one of the greatest of our problems."

Thorin looked around the room at the others, his gaze falling at last on Dís. "What is it?" she asked.

Her brother drew a breath. "I would not wish to burden you when you have just arrived. You have not even been settled into your own chambers as yet."

Dís scoffed, but was momentarily prevented from responding by a suddenly fussy Zari. Kíli quietly offered to take her to play and she let him; her son carried his sister but a few feet and sat on the floor with her, well within eyesight of their _amad_. All three of the wolves crawled over to play, much to the baby's delight.

Turning her attention back to Thorin, Dís said, " _Nadad_ , I would much rather you speak to me now rather than leaving me to fret over what is on your mind for days on end. Whatever issue you wish me to help you with, please share it so that my thoughts are burdened with meaningful occupation rather than… Well, it shall certainly give me something to think about."

She'd stopped herself just in time from revealing what she presently considered her greatest weakness. Thank goodness she had not! Surely her brother would not seek her advice if he were to learn the truth.

Thorin nodded his head and laid it all before her: they needed a solution to the problem with Lord Hagen—more specifically a means of forcing him to incriminate himself, as their only clue to the attack on Rejna was the scent memory of a wolf, and that would not stand up in public court. Almost as soon as he spoke her mind began to churn, but she declared she would not speak on the matter just yet.

"I know you'd like an immediate answer, _nadad_ , but if you want perfection, you'll have to give me a day or two. I'm still technically on the mend from a near-death experience, after all," she said.

Thorin chuckled. "Then as much as it will gall me to allow that piece of orc scum to continue breathing, I will grant you the time you require."

"Are you serious?" protested Rejna. "We're really going to wait?"

Dís forced the scowl that began to form into a lesser frown. Clearly she had not done so fast enough, for Thorin quickly looked away from her and patted his wife's hand in a placating manner as he said, "I can hardly believe I am about to say these words, but it is for the best."

Balin and Dwalin laughed in unison, the former saying after a moment, "Trust in the judgment of your One, Princess."

"Aye," his brother agreed, casting a smile and a wink at Dís. "When my princess says she will give you perfection, she utterly means it."

Dís felt a flutter of her old spirit within her as she sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. "Do not worry your pretty little head, madam," she said firmly. "Intricate and irrefutable solutions to such complicated problems as these were once my specialty.

"When I say perfection, I intend to deliver it."


End file.
